Crippled Prize
by Mizalaye
Summary: **Complete** Set several years after RotK-A terrible crime causes Aragorn to embark on perhaps his most personal quest to date. Can he possibly triumph, even with Legolas' assistance? *NOT SLASH!!* (rated PG for mild violence)
1. The Haunting Past

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CRIPPLED PRIZE

By Mizalaye

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Author's Note: This is my very first attempt at serious Lord of the Rings fanfic, so please review!!! Constructive criticism is welcomed, but flames will be laughed at! 

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings_ and all its characters belong to Tolkien. Dómiel and Gilraen are both my names, since the wonderful appendix does not name Aragorn's daughters. Can you figure out where I got the younger girl's name?_

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Chapter One: The Haunting Past

"Father? What's wrong?"

The dark-haired man halted his seemingly endless pacing to kneel before his son. "Do you remember what I told you about your mother having a baby?"

The three-year-old nodded eagerly. "You said the baby was growing inside Mother, and soon he would come out and I could play with him."

The man smiled. "Today, the baby has decided to come out."

"Can I see him yet?" the boy asked, excitement widening his blue eyes.

"Not just yet. Besides, you might have a baby sister."

"Nah. I told Mother I wanted a brother!"

A new voice interrupted the conversation. "My lord!"

With a sigh, the father stood and turned. In that moment, his mindset changed from that of a father answering the concerns of his son to that of King Elessar, answering the concerns of his people.

"My lord, the delegation from Rohan has arrived," the messenger announced.

Aragorn nodded. "See that they are given comfortable quarters. Apologize for my delay, and invite them to dine with me this evening."

"At once, my liege." The messenger bowed quickly and hurried away.

Aragorn turned back to his son. "Now, Eldarion, go find your nursemaid. I fear she is searching for you even now."

"I don't wanna!" Eldarion complained.

Aragorn held up a warning finger. "My son, there are many times we must do things that we do not wish to do. Go find your nursemaid."

The three-year-old trotted away, and Aragorn watched him, though from a distance, ensuring that the boy followed his father's orders. Only when his son was safely under the care of his maid did Aragorn turn his footsteps toward the chambers of his queen.

"My liege," one of Arwen's maids greeted him at the door to Arwen's chamber, "I was leaving to seek you out. You have a beautiful new daughter!"

Aragorn felt a rush of pure, ecstatic joy rush through his veins. "Allow me to see her," he commanded.

For once, however, his order was not obeyed. "Not just yet, I fear, my liege," the maid said kindly. "It shall be soon, but you may not yet enter the birthing chamber."

Though he was unused to his command being denied, Aragorn obediently left the doorway and resumed his pacing - now along the wall of his wife's rooms.

It seemed an entire month had gone by when the maid reappeared around the corner. "The Lady Arwen is asking for you, my liege."

Four of Aragorn's long strides brought him into his wife's chamber. Arwen sat propped up against several white pillows, a white-wrapped bundle in her arms. Her usually pale skin had drained of nearly all color, but, to Aragorn's eyes, she was more beautiful than he had ever seen her. He stopped merely a pace inside the door, content for a long moment to simply drink in the beauty of the woman he had married. "Undómiel," he whispered.

Arwen raised her deep blue eyes to his. "Estel, come greet your daughter."

A light of wonder in his eyes, Aragorn knelt beside the bed and gazed for the first time into the red face of his sleeping newborn daughter. "I shall name her after you, Lady Undómiel," he said lovingly. "I shall name her Dómiel, for, though her beauty shall be wondrous, it shall be outshone by that of her mother, Undómiel."

Arwen smiled gently at her beloved. "It shall be as you have said, dearest lord. She shall be called Dómiel, daughter of Aragorn."

It was fortunate for the warrior's pride in Aragorn that no witnesses lingered in the room, as two silent tears of joy ran from his eyes. "My daughter," he whispered.

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One year later

"My liege! My liege!" A soldier of Gondor sprinted through the corridors of the palace as fast as his legs would carry him.

Hearing the cry, Aragorn stood wearily from his seat. "I am here."

"My liege, the city is under siege by orcs!"

Those words stripped all clouds of weariness from Aragorn's body, and he leapt to his feet, hand flying to Andúril, sheathed at his side. "Call all the men to the city walls!" he cried as he ran from the room.

When the king arrived at the walls, he found, much to his relief, that the soldier had overestimated. A small raiding party of orcs, perhaps three score in size, had apparently blundered upon the city and was merely covering their own retreat. Upon Aragorn's arrival, a bare dozen of the loathsome creatures could be seen in the light of the torches that lit the walls.

"Did any man receive injuries?" the king asked the captain of his guard.

"None that have been reported, my lord," the captain replied.

"Double the watch this night," Aragorn ordered. "If any sign of those foul creatures appears, send for me immediately." Not waiting for the captain's reply, he strode back along the wall, anxious to ensure that all his men were safe.

"My liege!"

Weary of the seemingly unending call, Aragorn sighed as he responded, "Who hails me?"

One of Arwen's maids threw herself at the king's feet. "My liege, I come from the Lady Arwen. She begs you to come to her in all haste. Your daughter, Dómiel, has vanished, as has her nursemaid! The Lady is sick with worry..."

Aragorn did not stop long enough to acknowledge the woman. His long strides sending him flying across the ground, he ran at full speed toward Arwen's quarters. He found his wife pacing, tears pooling in her rich blue eyes. "My lord!" she cried when she saw Aragorn. "Estel, have you found her?"

"Where did the nursemaid take her?" Aragorn asked quickly.

"To the wall, I believe," Arwen replied in despair. "She asked to take Dómiel out-of-doors to breathe the fresh air. Then, I heard the horns blow, and the cries of battle, and..."

"Say no more, my beloved." Aragorn rapidly drew his wife into his arms and placed a swift kiss upon her forehead. "I shall find our daughter!" With this vow, he ran from the room.

The little princess' nursemaid was easily found - she lay atop the wall, an orc arrow through her chest. However, the child was not with her. Aragorn led out a party of men to search the area beyond the wall for any trace of his daughter.

It was beyond the wall that Arwen met him. The king carried a small form gently in his arms. 

"Dómiel?" Arwen whispered.

Aragorn beheld his wife, fury rising within him. "She is alive," he stated frankly, "but she is...permanently scarred."

Later that night, husband and wife embraced each other tenderly as they stood by the bedside of their eldest daughter, stricken with the terrible knowledge that no further help could be offered her. Only one bit of knowledge consoled them - Dómiel's life had been spared. What sort of a life she would now live, neither parent could tell.

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Four years later

"My lord?"

Aragorn sighed and raised his eyes from his work, prepared to answer yet another of the unending questions that it seemed only the king himself could answer properly. What met his eyes, however, brought a smile to his otherwise grim face. "My friends!" he exclaimed, rising to meet them. "Welcome!"

His two guests wore similar smiles as they each gripped his forearm in a companionable greeting. 

"Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli the dwarf," Aragorn mused. "It has been long since I have been given the pleasure of housing you within my walls!"

"Too long, Aragorn," Legolas amended.

"Indeed. But, come! I shall have quarters appointed for you, and you must speak with my dear family," Aragorn instructed. "I know Arwen shall be delighted to see both of you again, and you must, of course, meet the children."

"Of course!" Gimli replied. "The last time we had the pleasure of seeing him, Eldarion was so small he could have fit on my arm!"

"And that is quite a feat, when one considers the length of that appendage," Legolas teased.

"It is quite long enough to strike you, master elf," Gimli retorted.

Aragorn laughed aloud, for the first time all day, at the good-natured bickering between the two dear friends. Stopping a servant, he inquired as to the location of his children. Being informed that they were all in the gardens, he led his friends there.

True to Aragorn's prediction, a smile lit Arwen's face the instant she saw the trio. "Legolas and Gimli!" she exclaimed. "It is indeed a pleasure to lay eyes on you once more!"

Both elf and dwarf bowed respectfully to the Queen of Gondor. "It is our pleasure, my lady," Legolas answered for them both.

"I was hoping to allow our children to greet our friends," Aragorn informed Arwen softly. 

"Of course," his wife replied. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "Here they are."

Three children, accompanied by a nursemaid, rounded the corner at a rapid pace, having to slide to a halt when they saw the party.

"Children," Aragorn said proudly. "Allow me to present Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli son of Glóin, my old friends. Friends, allow me to present to you Eldarion, my son, Dómiel my eldest daughter, and Gilraen my youngest daughter."

Legolas and Gimli both bowed respectfully to the prince and princesses, who returned the courtesy. Both elf and dwarf stood still for a moment, studying the three royal children, who stared intently back, having heard many stories of Legolas and Gimli, dear friends who rode one steed and accomplished many wondrous feats, both during the War of the Ring and after.

Eldarion, the heir, was a striking young lad of seven now, with short-cropped, dark hair. He gazed through eyes the color of his mother's, though the thoughtful light in them clearly reflected his father, as did his stance, solid and unyielding, even in youth. Gilraen was the youngest at two, but already an elvish light shone from her features, marking her clearly as being the offspring of an elvish mother.

It was on Dómiel, however, that Legolas and Gimli allowed their gaze to linger the longest. The five-year-old's face shone with the fairness of the elves, but her gray eyes reflected the line of men. The most noticeable characteristic of the child was that she was still held in her nursemaid's arms, despite her age. The loose skirt she wore veiled her small legs from mortal sight, but Legolas the elf could sense a shadow upon her small body.

"You can sense it?" Aragorn asked him softly.

Legolas nodded. "Would it be improper for me to examine the injury?"

"Not at all." Aragorn lifted his daughter into his own arms, dismissed the nursemaid and the other children, and sat the girl down upon one of the myriad benches in the garden. Slowly, he drew back the folds of the girl's skirt, exposing her feet and ankles.

Only an act of supreme will prevented Legolas from flinching at the sight. The poor child's ankles were twisted into angles never meant for them to rest in, causing the feet to be horribly twisted as well. Clearly, the girl had never walked on her deformed feet, for the legs were thin and weak.

"They do not pain me," Dómiel said, speaking for the first time. Catching Legolas' surprised glance, she laughed. "Many who look at my feet ask me that."

"You are quite wise for one so young," Gimli replied, chuckling slightly at his friend's discomposure.

"Thank you," Dómiel said sincerely, sending the remainder of the group into laughter, as well.

"Come, Dómiel," Aragorn said. "It is time for you to rejoin your siblings."

"Yes, father," the girl responded obediently. After bidding her mother and her father's friends farewell, she allowed herself to be lifted once more into her father's strong arms and carried away.

Legolas and Gimli departed from Gondor only three days later, with promises to return quickly. They made good on their vow a mere three weeks after their departure. Upon their return, they presented Aragorn with a gift for his daughter, Dómiel - a specially crafted saddle.

"The child cannot walk," Legolas explained, "but, using this, she may ride, and therefore travel independently of another man's assistance."

Gimli eagerly showed Aragorn the special features the friends had crafted into the saddle - the special back-rest, assisting the girl to keep her balance; the system of straps which would hold the twisted legs in place, keeping her atop the horse; and the carefully crafted stirrups, which were turned in such a way as to support the girl's malformed feet.

"We are aware that she shall not be able to ride for some years yet," Legolas finished, "but, when she is of age, we believe this saddle shall be a great assistance."

Aragorn embraced each of his old friends firmly. "Legolas and Gimli," he said, "this day you have gifted both my daughter and myself. I will ensure that Dómiel knows her benefactors, and I am certain this gift shall be well-used."

"That is our only request," Gimli stated. "If she does not use it, it is a wasted gift!"

"Use it she shall, Master Dwarf," Aragorn responded. "You have given my daughter the gift of freedom, and she will thank you for it when the time comes for her to accept it!"

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Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter seems a bit abrupt. I had to cover a rather long amount of time, and I didn't want to drag it out too long. I promise I'll get into more action in the next chapters!


	2. Bonds That Can't Be Broken

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CRIPPLED PRIZE

by Mizalaye

Chapter Two: Bonds That Can't Be Broken

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Ten years later

The proud City of Gondor sat in splendor, shimmering in the revealing light of the late afternoon sun. Along its walls, only the black forms of sentinels and watchmen marred its white beauty. However, one dark figure atop the noble wall was neither sentinel nor watchman. Indeed, he was Elessar, the King of Gondor, who but rested a short time from his duties as governor of the great land of Gondor.

"You seem weary, my beloved." The voice that sounded from Aragorn's side was low and gentle, like waves on the sea, and it spoke in a language few mortal men comprehended.

"Indeed, I fear I am weary, Lady Undómiel," Aragorn replied in the same tongue to his beloved elven wife. "I am weary of the endless meetings and diplomatic discussions. I long..." he trailed off, suddenly realizing that he was complaining, an action he despised in others.

Arwen finished his thought. "You long to be Strider once more, roaming freely about Middle Earth and battling physical foes."

An almost physical feeling of warmth washed through the king's body at his wife's words. _She understands,_ he realized. Gratefully, he drew her into a firm embrace. "Indeed, my lady. You have voiced my thoughts to perfection."

Youthful laughter drew the couple's eyes away from each other and toward the open field beyond the castle wall. A jet-black mare whinnied in pure joy as she spun and capered about the field. Her rider, a fifteen-year-old maiden with hair the color of her steed's coat, tossed back her head and laughed once more. Clearly, the girl was engaged in a game, as two other maids, also on horseback, chased her ruthlessly about the field. However, the dark-haired girl and her equally dark horse eluded their pursuers time after time.

Upon the wall, the King and Queen of Gondor gazed into each others' eyes once more, smiles lighting both their faces.

"It gives my soul rest to see her so happy," Aragorn commented.

"Though you wish you could ride alongside her," Arwen added.

"You read my mind, beautiful lady."

Never taking his eyes from Arwen's, Aragorn leaned forward, eager to kiss his beautiful wife.

"My lord! My lady!"

A sigh of exasperation and regret passed Aragorn's lips as he pulled away. When his eyes locked on those of the one who had interrupted him, a good-natured glare slipped through them. "Friend Legolas, could you possibly have waited another minute to interrupt my conversation with my wife?"

Legolas' pale eyes flickered with a mischievous light. "My lord, it would not have been appropriate for me to interrupt your...erm..."conversation" a minute from now. I thought the moment I spoke to be the most opportune."

The elf's calm - and infuriatingly logical - response brought a hint of a smile to Aragorn's face. "I fear you speak the truth, my friend," he stated, "though my heart wishes it were otherwise."

Dropping the topic before the blush on Arwen's pale face grew any deeper, Legolas rested his palms on the top of the wall and surveyed the countryside beyond. His gaze, too, was drawn to the dark-haired young woman who rode in the field. "Dómiel has grown into a beautiful young woman," he observed.

Aragorn joined his friend at the wall and looked out upon his eldest daughter. "She has become extremely attached to that saddle you gifted her with. It is quite difficult to convince her to come inside at all, even to dine with her family!"

"The horse beneath her gives her freedom," Legolas replied astutely. "She possesses, I fear, far too independent a spirit to be bound to a chair."

"Indeed," Aragorn replied sadly. "I wish a way existed for her spirit to move her body - she would be able to fly!"

"Fly she cannot," Legolas said. "Ride, however, she can."

"And does," Arwen added. Then, turning to her husband, she said, "My lord, the time for us to dine draws near. We should dress for supper now."

"Go ahead, my lady," Aragorn replied. "I shall join you in a moment."

"I shall see you again at supper, Legolas," Arwen said in farewell.

"I look forward to it, my lady," the fair-haired elf replied with a bow.

As his queen breezed from the wall-top, Aragorn turned his attention once more to his daughter's form on the field below. "Dómiel!" he called.

Obediently, the dark-haired girl turned her face up to her father.

"I fear you must come in now," Aragorn called down.

"Yes, father," Dómiel replied reluctantly. Calling to her maids, the princess turned her mount and trotted toward the gates.

"If you will excuse me, my friend," the king said to Legolas, "I must send for the princess' bearer."

"Oh, do not disturb Vandor, my lord!" the elf protested immediately, referring to the man-servant hired by the royal family for one purpose - to serve as Princess Dómiel's legs. At Aragorn's curious look, he explained, "I passed the man on my way to meet you. I fear he sleeps - quite soundly, I might add - in the courtyard. I shall go fetch the little one, if you give your permission."

"I do, indeed," Aragorn replied. "I am certain Dómiel shall be happy to spend a few minutes' time with you, as it has been so long since she has seen you." The last words were spoken with a mild rebuke.

"But I have returned, and, by your leave, _I_ shall now take _my _leave 'til supper," Legolas responded smoothly.

Laughter lurking in his eyes, the king granted his leave, and the elf sped off into the beginning twilight, silent as a shadow. Shaking his head in amusement, Aragorn turned his own steps toward his chambers.

When Legolas reached the gate at which the horses must be left, he found the princess' party just arriving. Slipping from the shadow to the side of her horse, he bowed slightly and said, "Greetings, Lady Dómiel."

Despite her sharp senses, gifted to her by her elven blood, Dómiel clearly had not sensed Legolas' approach, since she visibly started. "My lord!" she exclaimed upon seeing the full-blooded elf. "I did not expect you to approach me so suddenly."

"I had no intentions of startling you," Legolas responded. "If you permit me, I have the honor of...escorting you back to the palace."

A ghost of a smile flitted across the girl's face at Legolas' choice of words. "Of course I shall permit you. What else could I say, when such an old friend asks so gallantly?" With an ease that bespoke long practice, Dómiel pulled two straps that lay crossed in front of her, and the straps that secured her twisted legs against the mare's side released. Carefully, the girl pressed her palms against the front of the saddle, lifting her torso, and maneuvered her left leg over the saddle.

Impressed, Legolas noted with satisfaction that the black mare had not so much as twitched during the entire awkward procedure. Gently, he reached up and eased the princess into his arms.

"Thank you, and do ensure she is well rubbed down," Dómiel said to the groom who held the horse.

"I always do, my lady!" the groom replied cheerfully as he led the mare toward the stables.

Seeing that the princess' two maids stood discreetly in the shadows, waiting for he and the princess to leave, Legolas strode toward the palace, Dómiel cradled in his arms.

"I do appreciate your willingness to assist me, Legolas," the girl said, switching to Sindarin, a language she had been brought up with, "and it is wonderful to see you again." After a moment's thought, she added, "I do not believe I have ever extended my gratitude to you or Gimli the dwarf for the wonderful saddle you crafted for me."

If it were possible for a full-blooded elf to blush, Legolas would have. "Your father thanked me sufficiently when the gift was made," he informed her a bit curtly, using the same language she now used.

"Yet, I have not thanked you," Dómiel insisted stubbornly. "You have my undying gratitude, my lord, for gifting me with freedom."

"You are quite welcome, little one," Legolas replied, "and I shall pass on your thanks to Master Gimli the next time our paths cross."

"Thank you again," Dómiel responded with a smile. "Ah, these are my chambers," she informed him even as one of her maids slipped in front of Legolas and opened a door. "If you would be so kind as to place me on the couch inside..."

"Of course." Legolas strode into the beautifully decorated chamber and sat the princess down softly on the large, cushioned couch that dominated the room. "I shall see you at supper, then, my lady?" The elf switched to the common Westron for the benefit of the two maids who lingered in the shadows.

"I look forward to it, my lord," Dómiel replied formally in the same language, bowing easily from her seated position.

With a final bow himself, Legolas exited the room.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"My lord," Legolas asked later that evening at the meal, "may I ask when the Prince Eldarion is to return?"

"His hunting party is to return within four day's time," Aragorn replied. "I fear you missed them by only a matter of hours. In fact, it does surprise me that you did not come upon the party ere you arrived."

"It should come as no great surprise, as I do not travel by the roads," Legolas reminded his friend.

"You will stay long enough to greet the party when they return, will you not?" Arwen asked from Aragorn's far side.

"If the Lady wishes it," Legolas replied gallantly.

"Indeed, I do. It has been long since you visited our land, friend, and we would not wish to lose the pleasure of your company so swiftly." Arwen's voice was low and sincere.

"Then, by the King's leave, I shall remain here for some days," Legolas decided.

"The doors of my home are always open to you, friend Legolas," Aragorn said graciously.

Then, one of the nobles seated further down the table, beyond the queen, asked a question, and the King's attention turned away from his guest.

Legolas turned his own gaze to the young lady seated, conveniently, beside him. "Lady Dómiel, I fear I am unfamiliar with the seating customs of your father's house," he said. The dark-haired princess had piqued his curiosity, and he sought to learn more about her. Unfortunately, no more interesting topic had leapt into his mind. "Are you accustomed to being seated where you are tonight?"

Dómiel nodded. "Actually, yes. My brother typically has the honor of the seat in which you now sit, on the king's right, the queen is seated at the king's left, and, as the eldest princess, I am seated to the king's right beside my elder brother." Brow furrowing for a moment, she inquired, "May I be so bold as to ask why you wish to know this?"

The elf opted for honesty. "I wished to begin a conversation with you, my lady, and could think of no other suitable topic."

Dómiel laughed softly, a clear laugh that left an impression of frequent use. "If it is conversation you seek, my lord, I suggest you turn your attention to the other side of the king's table. My younger sister is far superior to me in that art."

A teasing glint in his eye, Legolas replied, "I believe I shall do just that, my lady." Innocently, he turned his face toward the other side of the table, as if suddenly enraptured by the conversation taking place there.

From his other side, the fair-haired elf suddenly heard a swift intake of breath akin to a stifled gasp of pain, though the sound was too soft to be heard by any but elfish ears. Turning quickly, he saw Dómiel close her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, no sign of discomfort was written upon her face, but Legolas was certain enough of what he heard to keep a very sharp eye on the princess.

Minutes later, Dómiel shifted positions slightly and, once again, made a slight sound of pain. This time, however, she allowed nothing to show on her face.

Legolas leaned slightly closer to her and commented quietly, "Many years ago, you informed me that your injury does not pain you."

"It does not, my lord," Dómiel replied innocently. 

"Unless, of course, she attempts to move about on her own feet," Aragorn said reprovingly, demonstrating his incredible knack for hearing every conversation that took place within fifteen feet of him.

Biting her lip, Dómiel looked away. Switching to Sindarin for more privacy, she said, "'Tis true, I did attempt to use my own feet a few times this day."

Aragorn shook his head. This was clearly a debate familiar to both parties. Following his daughter's shift in languages, he said, "If you were to simply ask your maids to fetch things for you..."

"My maids have quite enough to do. I cannot be bound to a couch all the time!" Suddenly, Dómiel remembered the presence of their guest. "My apologies, my lord Legolas," she said, still in Sindarin. "My father and I have a...difference of opinion on this matter."

"Do not feel you must explain," Legolas replied.

"Thank you."

Later that evening, just before Legolas retired to the quarters Aragorn had set aside for him, he asked his old friend, "Does Dómiel attempt to walk often?"

"Often enough," Aragorn replied softly. "She refuses to be "bound," as she says, to a sitting position, but walking, even though she supports herself mostly with her hands since her feet will not hold her weight, is painful to her."

"And to you," Legolas added astutely.

"And to me," Aragorn acknowledged honestly. "I simply do not wish her to do any further damage to herself." Shaking his head, he dragged his mind back to his company. "But now is not the time for such talk. Sleep well, my friend."

"The same to you, friend," Legolas replied. However, after the king had left his sight, the elf made his way to the top of the wall and spent many hours gazing at the stars, his mind and heart filled with sorrow for his dear friend and his free-spirited yet crippled daughter.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Dómiel sighed impatiently as she waited for the guard to mount their horses. The small, patient part of her mind lectured her, reminding her that she was always placed atop her mount before the soldiers had even finished preparing theirs. Still, the young princess longed to be free of the city, riding off across the countryside.

Soon, though not soon enough for the impatient girl, her small escort was prepared, and the party set off.

Once free of the walls, Dómiel set a rapid pace, reveling in the simple pleasure of wind blowing briskly across her face and through her long, loose hair. Leaning forward over her mare's shoulders, she smiled mischievously and began whispering in Sindarin. The horse responded immediately by shifting to a full-out run. Behind her, Dómiel could hear the soldiers of her escort and the maid who accompanied her spurring their horses on in a desperate attempt to keep up with the princess.

After several minutes, Dómiel slowed her mount, allowing the rest of the party to catch up with her. Turning her face to the warm sun, she gave the mare her head and allowed her to meander wherever she pleased.

The escort quickly resumed their usual position behind the princess, allowing her to dictate both course and speed, as they always did. As riding was the only method of transportation Dómiel had, she was wont to go out on horseback as often as her other duties would allow. These expeditions into the countryside occurred about twice weekly, with a small group of three or four soldiers assigned to escort her.

Far too soon for the princess' taste, Dómiel's maid reminded her that the time had come to turn back toward the city. She had led the group out fairly far, and it would take nearly a half hour to return by the most direct route. Reluctantly, the dark-haired maiden turned her mare.

Without warning, the mare halted in her tracks. Dómiel was forced to catch hold of the animal's mane to stay aboard. Regaining her balance, the girl began speaking softly to the horse in Sindarin, coaxing her to continue. The mare shook her head and refused.

Only then did Dómiel's sharp ears pick out the soft sounds of standing horses. "Men are hiding here," she hissed to her escort.

As one, the soldiers drew their weapons.

The noise halted, and silence plunged onto the party like a brick on each heart.

Suddenly, a group of about twenty men on horseback appeared on both sides of the path, hemming the group in.

"Princess! Go!" the officer in charge of the escort cried.

Spotting a weak place in the attacking formation, Dómiel turned her horse once more and galloped full-steam toward it. Miraculously, she broke through! Obeying the officer, though reluctantly, she spurred her mare on with her voice and rode for the city.

She had not ridden more than a few yards when another group of six armed men on horseback seemed to explode from the trees. Three of them had bows in hand, arrows drawn back and aimed directly at her. The other three held naked swords in readiness.

Unarmed save for a dagger at her belt and hopelessly outnumbered, Dómiel drew her mount to a complete halt. Slowly, she took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to face the man who approached her, face completely calm. One thought flickered in her mind - _Do not show fear._

"Greetings, my lady," the man sneered, transforming the title into a curse.

Dómiel remained silent and proud.

"I would suggest that you not move, princess," the man ordered as he removed the dagger from the sheath at her side and stuck it into his own belt.

Dómiel obeyed unwillingly, as one of the archers now had an drawn arrow within inches of her throat. "What do you want with me?" she asked calmly.

"You shall discover that all too soon." The commander - for so he seemed to be - seized the release cords for the straps that supported her legs, doubled them over, and knotted them firmly, making it impossible for Dómiel to leave her saddle.

Rage rose in the princess as she realized this man had somehow obtained access to the saddle before this. Someone in the stables had betrayed her!

The commander quickly knotted her reins together and draped them over the horse's neck. Then, pulling a piece of rope from his robe, he seized Dómiel's hands and began binding them together in front of her. When he touched her, Dómiel flinched and yanked her hands from his grip, but a sudden touch of cool metal to her throat reminded her of the archer, and she relaxed her hands, allowing them to be roughly bound. After attaching a leading rope to her mare's bridle, the commander sneered, "Do not cry out, princess, or I shall be forced to do something _you _will regret. And, remember, the archers ride behind you." With this, he trotted off, away from the city, Dómiel's horse in tow.

As her captors led her away, a single tear slipped through Dómiel's emotional wall and rolled down her face.

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Author's Note: I know, I didn't put a whole lot more action in this chapter...I had to set quite a bit up! Sorry... Thanks to littlefish for giving me the idea to respond to each of my wonderful reviewers. (Hey, it works for her!)

Thank you to all my reviewers for taking the time to tell me what you thought!

tinytiger - Yes, there is more! I hoped you liked her "taking flight"

The Barrow-Wight - thank you for your comments. I was really worried about the flow of the first chapter, but you persuaded me otherwise. (By the way, I was thrilled when I saw your name...I love your site!!!)

bananna-here ya go...I hope you like where I'm going

SapphireRose-thanks for the encouragement! You're right - I am gonna be "way secretive" *grins* (BTW-the chapter title should sound real familiar...*grins*)


	3. Terror and Rage

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CRIPPLED PRIZE

by Mizalaye

Chapter Three: Terror and Rage

A slight breeze swept through the courtyard of the royal palace, gently tossing the long, dark hair of the Lady Arwen, Queen of Gondor, as she stood gazing at the sunset. This evening, she found herself out of doors, gazing into the West, remembering her father, Lord Elrond. Though it had been her choice to forsake the immortal life to be with her beloved, at times she longed to hear the sound of her father's voice. She did not regret her choice, but she still spent many an hour living in her memories, and wondering where she would be now, had she chosen the other path.

The sound of footsteps flung Arwen from her reverie. Her elvish ears determined the situation almost before she noted the sound - a soldier of some sort was running towards her. 

An arrow of fear plunged into Arwen's heart as the man came into view - he was one of those who had been assigned to Dómiel's guard that afternoon! Though no emotion revealed itself on her face, her hands trembled as she confronted the man.

"My lady!" he exclaimed. "Forgive me for my rude interruption of your thoughts; I must speak with King Elessar at once!"

"The king is in his study," Arwen replied, "but where is my daughter?"

A flush of guilt colored the man's face. "Forgive me, m'lady," he whispered. Without another word, he wheeled and sprinted across the courtyard toward Aragorn's study.

The fear in her heart now coursing through her veins, Arwen hurried after the soldier. With each beat of her heart, the same prayer flowed through her mind - _Not Dómiel...Not Dómiel..._

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Aragorn glanced up from the documents he had been studying when the soldier burst into the room. "What brings you here so rapidly?" he asked with the air of a man used to calming fears.

"My lord, forgive me!" the soldier cried, dropping to his knees at Aragorn's feet.

"Rise," the king commanded absently. "Why do you beg my forgiveness?"

The man remained on his knees and refused to lift his face toward his king's. "My lord," he said with a note of near panic in his voice. "I...I must tell you. Your daughter, Dómiel...she..." he swallowed convulsively, unable to continue.

The same bolt of fear which had pierced his wife's heart slammed into Aragorn's spirit. "Tell me what happened," he ordered sternly.

His eyes fixed on the floor, the soldier spoke rapidly. "We were attacked by a group of perhaps a score of riders. My commander saw a weakness in their circle, and instructed the princess to ride. I know she escaped their grasp; I saw her ride away. Our squad, however, was outnumbered and surrounded." The man's breath caught in his throat as he added, "I was the only man to escape with my life."

"And the princess?" Aragorn demanded.

The man shook his head miserably. "I searched the area for any trace of her. I found evidence of another group of riders." His voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "I believe she was captured, my lord."

A maelstrom of emotions charged through King Elessar at those words. Unadulterated rage at those who would dare lay a finger on his dear daughter mixed with terror for Dómiel's fate and a heart-breaking sorrow as he thought of what could be done to her. With each of these emotions mixing in his gray eyes, he looked up - and his eyes locked with those of his beloved queen. "Undómiel," he whispered.

"Estel, what...?" Arwen feared the worst, but she could not bring herself to put voice to her fear.

"Captured," Aragorn said softly.

"No!" Heartbreak and fear mixed in her own eyes as Arwen ran to the protective circle of her husband's arms.

Sensing the near-telepathic communication between the couple, the trembling soldier slipped from the room.

Aragorn stood perfectly still for a long moment, embracing his grief-stricken wife. His eyes lay closed and his face rested atop Arwen's head, hiding uncharacteristic emotion which he was incapable of suppressing.

Finally, the king raised his head and gently raised Arwen's chin. Her rich blue eyes locked on his face, and she saw that iron determination had settled in his jaw. His eyes no longer swirled with emotion; rather, they had hardened into a steely gaze that Arwen had seen previously only in battle.

"I shall track her captors down," Aragorn vowed to his wife. "I shall rescue our daughter, and teach whoever has done this frightful thing a lesson on what it means to assault the Princess of Gondor!"

Even as a frightening line of intuition pierced Arwen's senses, she inquired, "How many men shall accompany you, m'lord?"

Aragorn shook his head ever so slightly, confirming his wife's suspicions. "I shall travel alone. This is not a quest for an army; it is a quest for a Ranger."

"And so Strider shall emerge once more," Arwen stated astutely.

Aragorn flinched inwardly at his wife's direct statement. "Indeed. Though, I wish it was under far better circumstances."

"As do I," Arwen whispered.

"By your leave, my lady, I must prepare for my departure," Aragorn said courteously.

"In the light of your errand, my pardon should not even need to be asked," Arwen replied fervently.

With a final bow, Aragorn strode from the room, leaving his elven wife standing alone.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Everything has been arranged, my love," Aragorn said softly in the gray light of the following dawn. A passerby unfamiliar with the royal couple might have dismissed the pair in the corner near the stables as merely another couple. A long, gray cloak covered Arwen's rich gown, and the hood obscured her elvish features. Aragorn was clothed in the travel-worn garb of a Ranger, rather than the royal robes of a king. His bow hung over his shoulder, and Andúril hung by his side.

"I have left instructions for finishing all my current tasks with Faramir. He shall carry out my wishes in my absence, but he has been instructed to bring all new questions to you, my love. Please keep my departure a secret as long as you find it wise; I shall need the element of surprise."

"And if Dómiel's captors send a ransom note?" Arwen asked. "What do you wish me to do then, my lord?"

Aragorn thought carefully for a moment. "Postpone answering as long as possible. I do not wish to give in to these foes, so refuse their offer - unless doing so will directly harm our daughter."

Arwen nodded. "I shall do as you have said."

"I must leave you now," Aragorn said softly.

"I know." Gently, Arwen drew her husband's face to her own for a kiss. "I know you shall bring our daughter home, my love. I shall watch for your arrival every day."

Tenderly, Aragorn ran one finger along his wife's jawbone. "I shall think of you every moment; a piece of my heart remains here with you."

"And a piece of my heart travels with you, Estel, my beloved."

"Farewell, my love!"

"Farewell!"

Without another word, Aragorn turned and jogged to the stables. With the ease of long practice, he groomed and saddled his favorite mount. The stable hands were accustomed to the king's abrupt manner, and did not interfere. Leaping aboard his steed, Aragorn trotted swiftly through the gates of the city and out toward the place the soldier had told him Dómiel had vanished.

He had not traveled for more than perhaps five minutes when the sound of hoof-beats met his ears. Immediately, he turned his mount from the path and concealed himself in the trees.

The other horse did not come into view; Aragorn heard the horse halt, but could hear no rider dismount. He held his breath and focused all of his mind on listening and attempting to discern the rider's location. Silence met his ears, and a slight worry began creeping into his mind.

"Well met, Strider of the Dúnedain!" The voice came from not a foot behind Aragorn's head.

Instantly, he whirled, Andúril sweeping in a neat arc before him. The blade met only air as the figure behind him leapt easily aside.

When Aragorn turned his full attention to the figure, he let out the slightest of chuckles. "I should have know it was you. Few other beings in Middle Earth are capable of sneaking up on a Ranger." He did not say this with pride; he merely stated a fact.

Legolas let out a full, ringing laugh. "Indeed! But, then, I was not attempting to sneak up on you!"

"Do not lie to me, friend," Aragorn replied. "My ears are keen enough to pick out the sound of your travel, unless you are attempting to be silent."

Legolas bowed slightly. "You have found me out. I thought to test your instincts."

"May I ask what you determined?" Aragorn asked.

"You are not quite prepared to undertake a quest such as the one you now pursue alone," Legolas retorted, now quite serious.

"This is not a quest for an army, master elf," Aragorn said, repeating the words he had spoken to his wife the evening before. "This is a quest for a Ranger."

"And who shall prevent the Ranger from committing mistakes?" 

"Fate." Aragorn dodged the verbal trap.

"I shall not allow you to undertake this mission alone," Legolas stated firmly. "I shall accompany you."

"Can I speak anything to prevent you?" Aragorn asked rhetorically.

"No being prevents an elf from journeying where he wishes," Legolas replied, "least of all a mere human!"

Aragorn smiled slightly and extended a hand. Legolas grasped his forearm in a companionable gesture of warrior's trust.

"Let us hunt together!" Aragorn exclaimed. Rapidly, Legolas ran back along the path toward his mount. Within seconds, the human and the elf rode side by side on their hunt - the latest in a string of hunts that spanned decades and the majority of Middle Earth.

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Author's Note: Sorry about the shortness and lack of plot advancement in this chapter. I'm having a bit of writer's block...but it's coming...just slowly. I hope this is enough of a fill-in until I get the next chapter written (which I promise will have more action!)

SapphireRose: Thanks for the encouragement...thanks for your patience...for this story, at least! =o)

littlefish: Yay!!! Thank you soooooo much for actually taking time to review my story! I'm glad you like it so much...as for your questions, the only one I'm going to answer is the one I answered in the chapter - how Aragorn is going to react!!!


	4. Forces of Evil

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CRIPPLED PRIZE

by Mizalaye

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Again, a note: I must apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter up. I have quite a few excuses (the site crashing, being out of town, having three other huge projects crammed into one week...) but I won't bore you with them now. =o) Thanks for waiting...hope you enjoy!!!

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Chapter Four: Forces of Evil

In the forest east of Gondor, between that land of peace and the still-foul land of Mordor, two great warriors rode side by side through the slowly gathering twilight. Neither spoke - indeed, neither had voiced so much as a single sound for some hours. On occasion, one would glance at the other, but no other communication occurred. None was needed. Both warriors simply followed the trail that lay before them without question or delay.

Without warning, one horse slid to a halt. The other man halted his steed as well. Still, neither spoke. One listened, and the other waited.

"Yrch."

The single word, though spoken in a voice so low that it was nearly unintelligible, seemed to echo in the still forest.

Suddenly, Legolas dropped from his horse and handed the animal's reins to Aragorn. Without another word, the elf sprang into the branches of the nearest tree and vanished among them.

Aragorn, unsurprised by this rather sudden move on the part of his friend, remained still and silent on the ground. His thoughts, on the other hand, were neither still nor silent within his head. His memory flew back fourteen years, to a fateful night when Dómiel was but a year old - the night she was crippled forever.

The images still burned painfully into his mental vision - Dómiel lying in a crumpled heap just outside the wall, her feet bent almost double beneath her from the force of her fall, and her face twisted into a mask of pain and terror and confusion as she screamed.

_Daddy!!!_

One further image pierced Aragorn's mind - that of Dómiel's nursemaid, lying atop the wall, a single arrow through her chest.

An orc arrow.

A familiar fury built again within Aragorn's heart and mind - a fury that rose as a physical burning within his chest each and every time he thought of his daughter's handicap. Now, his fury tripled in intensity as he thought of her captors and the harm they might be doing her. As those who his rage should be directed against were too far from here, his anger turned to his one present enemy.

Orcs.

Instinctively, Aragorn's hand clenched around Andúril's sheath. Any sensible man or beast who now spied the Ranger, hand on his weapon and righteous wrath in his features, would turn tail and flee in the face of this specter of judgment.

Legolas dropped lightly to the forest floor but a few feet from Aragorn, unmoved by the intimidating figure before him. When the king did not speak, the elf questioned, "What danger do you sense, Strider?"

Aragorn forcibly ripped his mind from his near-overwhelming thoughts of vengeance to focus on answering his friend. "No danger save that which you have already scouted."

"The party of orcs does not march in our direction," Legolas reported. "If our trail keeps to its present course, we should easily avoid them."

"But why should we?" Aragorn asked.

"What?" The slightest hint of surprise stole into Legolas' features. Aragorn did not stray from battle, but it could not be said that the King of Gondor was reckless. Entering into battle with a party of orcs the size of the one that now passed near them was beyond foolish - it could even be termed suicidal!

A battle-light crept into Aragorn's eyes. "Why should we shy from battle, Legolas? We are each trained warriors, are we not? We have a chance now to thin the ranks of our enemy, and to exact revenge on them for the many wounds they have inflicted on us!"

Legolas' mind, by now used to following the emotional paths in the minds of men - and dwarves - quickly discerned the root of Aragorn's sudden battle lust. Only a wound inflicted on one whom Aragorn loved would move the man to such recklessness.

"Aragorn," the elf said calmly, using his friend's true name purposefully, "revenge here will serve no purpose. Even if we were to survive such a battle as you propose, our strength would be sapped, and we would have wasted even more of our precious time."

Aragorn would not be swayed. "It would be well worth our time if we were to slay even one more of those foul beasts!"

"And if you are killed in battle, what then?" Legolas knew his words would cut deeply, but he pressed on. "Who shall bear the news back to your wife that you died in glorious battle without fulfilling your vow to recover your daughter? Who then shall remain to find Dómiel and carry her safely home once more?"

The fury in Aragorn's spirit overwhelmed all rational thought, and, for a brief moment, it burned fiercely against his elvish companion.

The moment passed, however, and Aragorn was forced to confront the truth in his friend's words. His mission now was not to slay orcs; his mission was to rescue his beloved daughter from the fiends who had abducted her.

Legolas nearly sighed with relief as the vengeful light died from Aragorn's gray eyes.

"You speak truly," Aragorn said finally. "Revenge shall wait." Suddenly, his head came up in proud determination. "We have wasted too much time here, my friend. Let us ride on!"

Wordlessly, Legolas leaped aboard his mount and spurred it forward.

The fury still burned within Aragorn's heart, but the king kept the anger locked there, deep inside.

__

Save your anger, he instructed himself firmly. _You shall need it soon enough. Wait...wait._

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The following evening

"Strider."

Silence was Legolas' only answer. The elf sighed. "Strider."

Still, no answer returned to him.

"Aragorn, we must halt for the night. It has become too dark for even elvish eyes to locate the trail."

Aragorn obediently drew his mount to a standstill, but still refused to reply. He knew in his mind that his friend was, once again, correct, but his heart drove him on.

"Strider?"

Finally, Aragorn turned. "I am loathe to spend yet another night sleeping peacefully while my daughter..." He could not bring himself to complete the sentence.

"You can not help her if you lose the path," Legolas chided him gently. "Besides, you are in great need of rest, my friend."

Unable to deny either of the elf's statements, Aragorn reluctantly turned back and followed his friend off to one side of the trail.

"I shall stand the watch tonight," Legolas stated in a tone that brooked no argument as the two men halted beside a massive oak tree. "You need rest."

Aragorn grumbled a bit, but could not find grounds to argue the point. He knew all too well just how long elves could travel without sleep. Aside from that, his body clamored for rest.

After a quick meal of _lembas,_ Aragorn laid out his bedroll among the roots of the oak tree and bade Legolas goodnight.

"Sleep well," the elf replied. "You shall need your strength."

"I shall sleep quite poorly, I fear," Aragorn commented. "My mind can not rest 'til she is safe."

"She shall be safe soon," Legolas vowed. "Now, rest." With that, he sprang into the branches of the oak, leaving Aragorn on the ground with the horses.

Even knowing that Legolas' keen eyes kept watch above him, Aragorn's sleep was uneasy and punctuated by mocking nightmares and images from the past.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

No other man could have said what awakened Aragorn later that night. Indeed, all Aragorn himself could have said was that an elvish sense awoke him - a sense gleaned from his many years fostered in an elvish city.

Whatever awakened the Ranger, however, instantly sent alertness coursing through his veins, and he sprang to his feet, loosening Andúril in its sheath. Silently, he scanned the surrounding forest, searching for the cause of the disturbance.

"Strider." Legolas' voice floated down, so soft that Aragorn was forced to strain to make out the words. "I was about to awaken you."

"What is it?" the man asked, with perfect faith that the elf had already identified the threat.

"Warg."

The simple word sent a shiver down Aragorn's spine. This close to Mordor, the old evils still ran amok. He had expected this, and the band of orcs they had nearly collided with the day before had warned him, but he had still entertained hopes of avoiding wargs. Even two seasoned warriors such as Legolas and himself stood little chance against a large pack of the bloodthirsty beasts!

Abandoning his post among the roots, Aragorn clambered up the giant oak. Legolas met him about ten feet off the ground.

"Not bad climbing - for a man." Though danger approached, the worriless side of the Eldar shone through in the good-natured verbal jab.

Aragorn, however, refused to allow his mind to stray from the task at hand. "How many?" He spoke so softly that even another elf would not have heard him, unless that elf perched within feet.

"I have only located one," Legolas replied, almost as softly.

"A scout?"

"More likely an outcast. I have not spotted any signs of a pack in the area."

"Perhaps." Aragorn remained skeptical - wargs rarely traveled alone.

Several minutes passed as the two warriors remained crouched on branches high in the oak. Neither man nor elf made a single sound as they concentrated all their minds and bodies on listening.

Finally, Legolas snapped to full attention, bow seeming to fly into his hand. "It has scented us."

A moment later, Aragorn, too, could pick out the soft sounds of the warg's travel as the beast picked its way toward them.

A scarce two minutes later, both warriors could pick out the warg's shadowy form, circling the tree.

"I will draw him to you," Aragorn volunteered. Before Legolas could protest, he dropped easily from the tree - but landed awkwardly and collapsed onto the ground. Slowly, he stood, placing all of his weight onto his left leg and balancing himself against the tree with his left hand.

The warg locked its beady eyes onto the dark-haired man.

Aragorn's breaths began to come faster, and the hand resting upon Andúril's sheath began to tremble.

The warg charged.

Aragorn's vision narrowed; his eyes filled with the horrifying sight of roiling black fur, razor-sharp teeth, and horrendous, glinting eyes. Somehow, he stood his ground.

The warg's muscles coiled on its final stride as it prepared to spring.

Without even a hint of warning, Andúril flew from its sheath. Now standing firmly on both legs, Aragorn whipped his blade in a tight arc, aiming for the beast's throat.

Exhibiting unnatural reflexes, the warg leaped aside quickly enough to save its life, though Andúril still scored a gash down the beast's side.

Growling in frustration, the warg began to circle around the suddenly uninjured warrior.

Aragorn stood his ground confidently, awaiting the familiar twang of Legolas' bow, which would be followed by the warg's final cry.

The sounds did not come.

Thinking that perhaps Legolas simply was unable to get a clear shot at the foe, Aragorn pressed the attack. His blade flew through pattern after pattern, stinging and blocking as the Ranger strove to drive the beast into range of Legolas' arrows.

Aragorn let out a slight cry of triumph as Andúril bit into the warg's face, just below its eye. He pressed his sudden advantage, swinging violently in an attempt to seriously injure the beast. 

Just as a swing passed beside the warg, however, it took full advantage of the miniscule pause and charged the human attacking it.

Aragorn clenched his jaw against the cry of pain that threatened to escape his lips as the warg's razor-sharp teeth ripped a bloody groove down his arm. Before the pain even registered, he dove to one side, escaping a second injury.

And still, no elvish arrow rescued the Ranger from his plight.

Now lying flat on his back, Aragorn no longer merely fought against the warg - he now fought for his very life. Time and again, the beast's jaws snapped at his throat. Time and again, he dodged or blocked those death-dealing teeth. What seemed like hours passed as Aragorn and the warg continued this horrific dance which could lead to only one conclusion - death.

Without warning, the warg leapt backward, howling in sudden agony.

Aragorn sprang to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot through his body from the various cuts and bruises that now decorated his arms, face, and torso. Before he had even stood to his full height, the distinctive twang of a bow being released met his ears, and the warg howled once more as a second elvish arrow appeared in its neck.

A third time the bow of Legolas twanged, and a third arrow appeared - this one embedded in the beast's shoulder. The warg threw its head back and screamed its pain to the stars.

In one fierce motion, Aragorn silenced the warg forever.

Silence swept back through the forest as the fire of battle died from Aragorn's veins.

"Strider!"

Aragorn did not start, though the voice sounded from just behind him. "Well shot, Legolas."

"Though not quickly shot," Legolas replied ruefully. "Come, Strider. You will wish to see this."

Aragorn obediently trailed the elf around the massive tree. Just around the trunk from where he had fought, he stopped, staring in disbelief at the ground.

There lay the still form of another warg, this one slightly smaller. Two arrows protruded from the beast's body, proving Legolas' kill.

"Now I see why your arrows did not arrive with their usual promptness," Aragorn commented without any trace of bitterness.

"I do not know why I did not sense the second warg's approach," Legolas said. "By the time I heard its footsteps, you had already engaged the larger beast. Had I not dispatched this one first, it would have flanked you and possibly injured you further."

"You have no need to explain yourself to me. I am uninjured, and both beasts have now fallen."

"It is true that both of these creatures have fallen, but you, my friend, are far from uninjured," Legolas responded, a slight rebuke in his voice.

Aragorn turned his attention to the gash that ran the length of his left forearm. Now that his thoughts had turned to it, pain flooded through the entire arm. His reaction consisted of only the slightest of winces - so slight that it normally would have gone unnoticed - but Legolas' elvish eyes caught the grimace.

"Sit." The elf's voice brooked no argument, so the man obeyed.

With the ease of much practice, Legolas dressed the wound with herbs and bound it tightly. When he finished, Aragorn stretched the arm, testing its strength and range of motion. "I remain fit to travel," he announced.

"You would pronounce yourself fit for travel were your foot broken," Legolas retorted.

Aragorn refused to reply, but the hint of a smile touched his face.

Then, the two warriors sprang once again upon their mounts and, as the first rays of dawn lit the sky, they set back upon their trail.

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Notes: Please, please, PLEASE review!!!! I am begging you!!!

littlefish: Thank you SO much for the encouraging review...I love it when an author I respect actually reviews my stuff!!! =o) I'd love to know what you think about this chapter!


	5. Hope Given and Hope Lost

**CRIPPLED PRIZE**

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**by Mizalaye**

_Author's Note__: Ok, everybody…(*VERY sheepish look*)  Once again, it has taken me FOREVER to get this chapter up.  And, once again, I am horribly sorry!  My life has been very crazy lately.  Soooo…..expect updates to be pretty slow in coming for a few more weeks.  Don't worry, though, I'm still here, and I'm still writing!  Thank you for your patience…please REVIEW!!!! (It does affect my posting speed) =o)_

**Chapter Five: Hope Given and Hope Lost**

A glorious spring day had risen over the land.  The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, and no sound, save that of a few birds, touched the still afternoon air.

No sound, that is, that could be distinguished by mortal ears.

Legolas the elf stiffened.

 "What is it?"  Aragorn's voice remained a nearly unintelligible whisper.

No reply came from the elf.  Instead, Legolas leapt into a nearby tree and, once more, disappeared into its branches.

On the ground, Aragorn sighed slightly.  He wondered with a sinking heart how many further delays they would face before this journey's end.  Already, he felt they had wasted too much time in fighting that should have been spent in tracking.

Legolas' head appeared from the branches a few feet away.  "Come," was all he said.

Wordlessly, Aragorn tethered the horses and followed his companion into the tree branches, keeping as silent as he knew how.

Legolas led him through the trees for several yards.  Finally, he came to a halt on the edge of a small clearing.  "Look."  The elf's voice, though soft, carried a current of hope tinged with pain.

Slowly, making as little noise as possible, Aragorn crept forward on the tree branch and peered through the leaves into the clearing.

A group of six men knelt around a small fire, cooking something over it.  All six talked coarsely, with many rough jests and short, barking laughs.  Seven horses grazed at intervals around the clearing; six of them looked as rough as the men around the fire.  The seventh, however, was a clean and noble beast who looked out of place among such coarse surroundings.

Then, Aragorn's gaze was drawn to a seventh figure, this one near the edge of the clearing.  The king's breath caught in his throat, and a tear sprang to his eye.

Almost exactly across the clearing, a slim, female figure was bound securely to a tree.  Long hair the color of the midnight sky concealed her bent head.

The slightest of breaths escaped Aragorn's lips – "Dómiel!"

Beside the king, Legolas whispered something so soft that even Aragorn could not understand it.

 "I must go to her!"  Giving no heed to the danger, Aragorn tensed to spring.  Legolas let out a hiss of warning.

Then, the bound girl raised her head.

Aragorn bit back a cry of utter despair.  

What peered out from beneath the veil of rich, black hair was not the pair of familiar gray orbs he expected, but a pair of soft, brown eyes.

She was not Dómiel.

Obviously younger than Dómiel, her features, though pretty, held none of the nobility of the Eldar.  It was only then that Aragorn noticed her thinly-shod feet.  Both were planted firmly on the ground; both ankles were straight and healthy.

The unique pain of cruelly dashed hope crashed onto Aragorn's heart, and he bit back another cry of anguish.   Despite his pain, he found his gaze drawn inexplicably back to the captured girl.

Clearly, she had not been treated well.  Bruises of varying shades covered both sides of her face, marring the smooth texture of her skin.  Dried blood marked her lips, showing where they had been split – more than once, it seemed.  Despite her injuries, however, the girl's chin remained high, even when one of the men approached her.

 "Are you willing to speak yet, vixen?" the man asked harshly.

The girl gave him no reply.

Her silence earned her a slap across the face.  "You shall break, girl," the man growled.  "Sooner or later, you will tell me everything I need to know…won't you?"

Still, the girl remained silent.

With a snarl, the man backhanded her viciously.  Then, without another word, he turned and re-joined his companions at the fire.

 "Still stubborn?" one of the others asked.

 "So far," the first man replied, "but I shall break her yet.  She has only been away from home a few days now.  We have days and days – as long as we need – to bend her will to ours."

If the imprisoned girl heard the remark, she allowed no reaction to touch her features.  From his position in the tree across from her, Aragorn could clearly see her soft brown eyes as they wandered up toward the sky, as if seeking answers no other could see.

Her eyes leaked despair and utter hopelessness, and they held no illusions.  Whatever circumstances had brought her to these men, she did not expect to ever leave again.  Her eyes reflected the wish of the condemned - a merciful death.

Aragorn turned away.  Silently, he returned to the horses, Legolas close behind.

 "We must press on," Aragorn said, his voice ragged with emotion.  "Our mission has not changed."  Nevertheless, the despair in those brown eyes haunted his mental vision.

Legolas sensed the division in his friend's mind.  "You must choose, Aragorn.  You trade the freedom of that girl for the possible freedom of your daughter.  No other can make that choice."

 "We must press on," Aragorn repeated softly.  "And yet…" his voice caught.  "And yet…were that girl my daughter, and I merely a passer-by…"  Pain flickered in Aragorn's gray eyes as a battle was waged within his mind – a battle between his love for Dómiel and his sense of compassion toward one in need.  Finally, his chin came up in determination.  "I cannot leave an innocent to suffer in that manner.  I could never forgive myself if I passed by a child in such need."

Legolas nodded solemnly, but the slightest flicker of an approving smile touched his face.  "I shall follow you, my friend."

As one, the two warriors moved back toward the clearing.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The six men around the fire kept up a continuous stream of conversation and jesting as they ate.  None stood watch; none noticed slight movements in the trees that could not be attributed to bird or beast of the forest.

Without even a hint of warning, an arrow seemingly appeared in the center of the circle of men, embedded just outside the fire-ring.

 "Surrender!  You are surrounded!" a voice cried.

The six men leaped to their feet.  "Who dares to approach us?" one of them called back.

 "One who wishes for the freedom of your captive."

At these words, the girl's head came up, and her brown eyes began searching the trees.  Cocking her head, she listened carefully to the one who called down from the branches.

 "We will never let her go!" one of the girl's captors cried.

 "Than you shall never leave this place alive," the voice in the trees vowed.

The girl's eyes dropped back to the ground in despair.  She did not recognize the voice.

The group of men in the clearing huddled together and began to whisper, deciding what to do.

An arrow neatly flew through the group, touching none of them.  "The next arrow shall not miss," stated the voice in the trees.

Suddenly, one of the men broke from the group and sprinted across the clearing toward the girl, pulling a knife from a sheath at his side as he ran.  "She will die first!" he screamed.

The twang of a bow cut through the air, and the man fell to the ground, an elvish arrow through his heart.

The other five men instantly dropped to their knees, hands out before them in a gesture of surrender.

A moment later, Aragorn dropped from the trees, Andúril in his hand.  "Leave this place," he ordered the men, his voice low and dangerous.  "The land of Gondor is no longer safe for you – flee into the evil realm from whence you came!"

The five men wasted no time in scrambling to their feet and sprinting away from the dark-haired vision of vengeance who had so easily defeated them.  Aragorn followed them into the forest for a short ways, ensuring that they did not turn back.

While his companion followed the captors, Legolas also dropped lightly from the trees and made his way to the captive.  Drawing one of his knives from its sheath on his back, he sliced through the cords that bound the girl with one stroke.

Not expecting to be freed so violently, the girl fell forward onto her knees.  As she began to stand, she felt a strong hand help her to her feet.

 "Thank…" her words died off as she saw her rescuer's face.  "You...you are an elf!"

 "Indeed," Legolas replied wryly.

 "Forgive me," the girl said softly.  "I have never met one of your people before…I…"

Legolas shook his head.  "No apology is necessary.  Come, let me take you away from this place."  Being careful of her injuries, he led her through the trees to where his and Aragorn's horses had been tied.  

The girl followed obediently, never taking her eyes from the elf's face.

Moments later, Aragorn joined them.  "How do you feel?" he asked the girl.

A flicker of suspicion mixed with fear leaped into her eyes as she turned her gaze to the man, and her shoulders stiffened, but she gave no answer.

Suddenly, Aragorn realized the cause of both her fear and her suspicion.  "You have nothing to fear from us.  We shall not harm you, and we want nothing from you; we simply want to see you returned to your home and your people."

The girl remained silent for another long moment.  Finally, she spoke.  "I should have no reason to distrust your words, as you have saved me from those robbers.  My name is Doleth.  I am the daughter of the Mayor of the town of Molenth.  Do you know the place?"

Aragorn nodded.  "A small town in East Gondor, is it not?"

Doleth nodded.  "About two days ride from here, as closely as I can determine."

 "I am called Strider," Aragorn said, purposefully not introducing Legolas.  "What foul circumstances cast you into the hands of those men?"

After a moment of hesitation, Doleth met Aragorn's gaze in a gesture of desperate trust.  "'Tis a long tale, good sir, but I am willing to tell it.  Legends hold that a vast store of gold, silver, and precious jewels were concealed in and around the village of Molenth many centuries ago by the great kings of old.  It is said that the secret to the treasure's location has been passed down from father to son in the line of the rulers of the city.  However, this tale is merely a legend.  If such a treasure horde exists, than my father, the Mayor of Molenth, has never been told of it.  Nevertheless the legend lives on within the minds of many men, especially those who wish to gain wealth through illicit means.  This is not the first time I have been captured by those seeking to obtain the location of the treasure from my father.  Though, it is the first time they have assumed _I_ knew that location."

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a brief glance.  Without any further communication with his companion, Aragorn spoke.  "You are free from their clutches now, m'lady.  And, if it pleases you, my companion and I offer our services as escorts, so that you may arrive home in safety."

Doleth looked from one to the other, eyes wide.  "I thank you, kind sirs.  I know you must have far more pressing errands than escorting a girl home to her father, so I thank you all the more for your kindness."

 "Indeed."  Aragorn could not keep the word from passing his lips.  Doleth did not hear it, but Legolas did, and the elf shot his friend a warning look.  Aragorn nodded slightly in return.  He had offered his services – it would not do to burden this child with his own worries and doubts.

That evening, as Doleth slept peacefully and Legolas kept watch, Aragorn lay sleepless, eyes fixed on the stars.  _Dómiel, my daughter, do you sleep in peace this night?  Or do you weep in sorrow and fear?  Keep your hope close, my daughter – know that I come.  _Aragorn took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.  _Keep hope close._

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

_Blackness._

It was not merely physical, but mental.  It penetrated and enveloped Dómiel's mind and spirit, clouding all other senses and eliminating all hints of joy as she was dragged – where, she could not tell.  A rough, dirty cloth was bound tightly across her eyes, as it had been since that morning.

Abruptly, the two men who dragged her halted their rapid marching.  A moment later, she was flung roughly sideways.  Stubbornly, she swallowed a cry of pain as – for the hundredth time since her forced journey had begun – she landed cruelly atop her crippled legs, which buckled instantly beneath her.

Somewhere in the darkness, near her crumpled form, a violent bang shook the air as an iron door slammed to.

Moving quite slowly, as each of her muscles protested at the slightest movement, Dómiel slipped the blindfold from her face.  She found herself to be in a stone cell, perhaps one-and-a-half times her height across.  A barred window scarcely larger than her hand provided her only access to light and air – and both came from the corridor beyond.  A straw pallet in one corner made up her only furniture.  For a princess used to gardens, open courtyards, and the freedom riding provided, the cell seemed no larger than a coffin.

Gingerly, Dómiel began stretching, ensuring that each part of her abused body still worked.  Due to their constant use, both of her ankles throbbed in a slow, constant beat that echoed the thumping of her fear-riddled heart.  With practiced gentleness, she massaged both her ankles and her wrists, which bore thick, red welts from the cords that had continually bound her wrists during her several-day journey.

As she looked about her cell, taking in the bleak stone walls and the absolute stillness, fear mixed with despair within her spirit.  _I am alone, _she thought with an ever-sinking heart.  _I am alone, and no one can help me here._  Fighting the absolute terror that this thought provoked, she lay down upon the straw pallet.  Despite her desperate effort of will, two drops of water spilled from her eyes and slid to the straw – the only witness to her utter hopelessness.

_Cat – Thanks for reviewing…I hope you like this chapter, too!_

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_Arnen – Thank you…and welcome aboard!_

_PepperVL – Thank you for taking the time to review (I know how real life goes…)  I hope this chapter meets your expectations._

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	6. Consequences of Delays

**CRIPPLED PRIZE**

**by Mizalaye**

**Chapter Six: Consequences of Delays**

Legolas halted his mount.  "Someone draws near."

"Friendly?" Aragorn whispered in reply.

The elf shook his head.  "I know not."

Gently, Aragorn shook the shoulder of the hunched figure who rode in front of him.  "Doleth, you must wake.  Someone is coming."

The girl's soft brown eyes fluttered open, and she raised her head from its resting place against her chest.  "Forgive me, sir.  I must have dozed off."

The slightest of smiles touched Aragorn's face.  All through this past day and a half of their tedious journey, Doleth had made no complaint at the fast pace they had maintained.  In fact, she had been nothing if not eager to please, seeming afraid to offend either of the warriors who escorted her.  Aragorn's smile quickly vanished however, as it always did.  Every slightest movement Doleth made reminded him of Dómiel in the most painful way – every toss of the head, every fleeting smile sent pulses of the ongoing mental pain through his spirit. 

Legolas turned toward his king.  "They follow the same path we follow."

"They could be the men of Molenth," Aragorn suggested.

"Or other men of evil intent," Legolas replied.

Aragorn made a swift decision.  "Hide!"

Both warriors turned their horses quickly off the path and into the trees.  Moving with the speed bred from decades – or centuries, in Legolas' case – of experience, both man and elf tied their horses to a tree and crept forward to the edge of the path to watch and wait.  Doleth followed, hesitant and clearly frightened.

Minutes of total silence passed, as only the soft sound of the birds reached the listening ears of the trio concealed beside the forest trail.

Then, a party of armed men on horseback appeared from around the bend.  The men bore black shields, and their faces were masked by their helmets.

A cry flew from Doleth's lips.

Instantly, Legolas clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.  The men had heard.

"Reveal yourselves!" cried the man who seemed to be in command.

None of the trio moved.

The commander turned to those behind him and gave a command.  Six men drew out bows and arrows and aimed the deadly bolts at the thicket Aragorn, Legolas, and Doleth hid within.

Without warning, Doleth leapt to her feet.  Legolas jumped up beside her, hoping to somehow shield her from the arrows that would surely fly.

The commander's eyes grew wide in shock.  Then, they narrowed in fury.  "Release her at once!"

Doleth cried out, "Don't shoot, Papa!  They haven't hurt me!"

The Mayor of Molenth seemed confused.  Aragorn, however, grasped the situation as soon as the term of affection had left Doleth's lips, so he rose to his feet.  "Greetings, honored Mayor!" he called out.  "I believe you are searching for this young one."

"Yes," the Mayor replied softly.  "She is my daughter."

Immediately, Legolas released Doleth, and the girl ran from the thicket and clambered up onto her father's mount, crying, "Papa!"

The instant she reached the safety of her father's arms, Doleth began to talk, telling him the entire story of her capture and subsequent rescue.  It took several minutes for the Mayor to finally understand that Aragorn and Legolas had not captured his daughter, but rescued her.  When that vital piece of information had finally taken shape in his mind, however, he greeted the two warriors gladly.

"My name is Telithar, Mayor of Molenth, and all the resources of my small town are at your disposal, Master Ranger and Master Elf," he said fervently.

Aragorn bowed slightly.  "All I could ask of you, sir, would be information."

"Gladly, but, first, let us make camp, for I would rest before beginning our joyous trip homeward."  Obligingly, the soldiers began setting up a temporary camp in a small clearing.  Aragorn and Legolas seated themselves near the edge of the clearing beside Telithar and Doleth, who refused to leave her father's side, even to have her injuries inspected.

Aragorn cut straight to his point.  "Your daughter made mention of a group who often arranged kidnappings of this type.  I am looking for information on this group."

Telithar nodded.  "After the defeat of Sauron, Mordor became a gathering place for all evil, as remnants of his kingdom still linger there.  Many men who had profited from Sauron's reign of terror – thieves, assassins, and the like – journeyed to the realm where that Master of Darkness had once lived and set up homes for themselves under the shadow of that evil."

Aragorn nodded.  This much he already knew – evil still stirred in Mordor, despite Sauron's defeat.

"Several of those men," Telithar continued, "formed small bands of such evildoers in order to commit larger and more terrible crimes.  They use the borders of Mordor as a base and travel all about this area of Middle Earth, committing their acts of evil.  A few years ago, bands of these men began using kidnappings to raise money for their other crimes."

Aragorn leaned forward ever so slightly, concentrating completely on Telithar's words.

"Their methods are almost always the same.  Some person of influence, or, even worse, loved ones of an influential man, vanish without a trace.  Then, some days later, a loved one receives a note demanding vast amounts of gold or silver or gems or whatever that land has to offer for the safe return of the captured one.  If the families do not pay, the victim is never seen again.  Some say they are killed; others that they are sold into slavery.  Either choice is unthinkable."

Struggling desperately to keep his face neutral, Aragorn merely nodded.

"What else do you wish to know?" Telithar asked.

"What do these men call themselves?"

"What they call themselves, no one knows," the Mayor replied.  "Their ransom demands are signed merely with a symbol – a black-hilted knife.  My people refer to them as the "Shadows of Mordor."

"Do you know where these Shadows of Mordor have their lair?" Aragorn asked.

"Indeed.  The last time my dear Doleth fell into their hands, we were forced to track them nearly to the mountains where they live.  I could tell you almost exactly where the caves they inhabit are located."

"I would find that most helpful," Aragorn replied, careful to keep his answer casual.  As Telithar  went over to his mount to find a map – trailed, of course, by Doleth – Aragorn caught Legolas' eye.

"I think, my friend," the elf whispered softly, "this delay has proven to be well worth its risk."

Aragorn shook his head, worry etched in his eyes.  "I shall agree with you only after I have held Dómiel in my arms as Telithar held Doleth."

The Mayor trotted back a moment later, a piece of parchment in his hand, and Aragorn schooled his features once more.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

_Three days later_

"We are nearly there now," Aragorn whispered, glancing once more at the roughly-drawn map Telithar had given him.

"I feel as if we are being watched," Legolas warned softly.

After a moment's consideration, Aragorn nodded in the direction of a rocky outcropping a few yards away.  "Perhaps we can shelter the horses there."

The outcropping proved to be quite suitable for concealing both mounts, so Aragorn and Legolas left them there and crept further up the mountain on foot.

"There."  Legolas pointed just up the mountain.  A dark hole lay there, nearly concealed by brush and carefully placed boulders.  "That must be the entrance."

"Heavily guarded, no doubt," Aragorn muttered darkly.

"Let us look for another entrance," Legolas said.  "If we could sneak in through some abandoned tunnel…" 

"That search could take days," Aragorn protested quietly.  Then, he sighed.  "But it is our best hope for success."

Without another word, the two set off around the edge of the small cliff which housed the entrance and began a long, and quite possibly futile, search for a lesser-used entrance.

_Please review…please!!!!  Also, (*WARNING – Shameless Plug!!!*) I have written a one-chapter angst fic called, "She Holds My Heart," which basically tells my personal theory as to why Legolas is the way he is.  Since it's only one chapter, it doesn't get a lot of notice, but I would REALLY appreciate it if maybe some of you would go read it…thank you!!!!_

_PepperVL – Thank you so much for your reviews!  And thank you for believing in Aragorn…as you can see, it did turn out well (so far…*grins*)_

_Littlefish – Thank you again for your encouraging reviews!!!  I hope I helped out your curiosity a little bit…as least as far as Doleth's role goes. =o)_


	7. Desperate Tears and Desperate Plans

**Crippled Prize**

**by Mizalaye**

_Note__: I have never claimed to be very fluent in Elvish…=o)  If somebody reading this is, and my Elvish is wrong, please let me know – I'd be very happy to fix it!  Many thanks to Key for helping me find the Elvish translations for this chapter!!!_

**Chapter Seven: Desperate Tears and Desperate Plans**

Into the darkness, the slightest of whimpers escaped, seeming to echo in the eerie silence.

Instantly, Dómiel sat up a bit straighter, listening.  When no footsteps reached her ears, she relaxed her shoulders – but only slightly.  _What if someone had heard?_ she scolded herself.  _You would have brought that nasty guard back here…_  An involuntary shudder racked her spine, stemming from more than just the cold damp air.  The last time the guard had found cause to approach her cell door, he had spent more than twenty minutes hurling curses at her before finally leaving.  She had no wish to repeat that particular experience.

Casting yet another look about the cell, the princess curled up once more on her dirty straw pallet.  _I must look a fright,_ Dómiel thought to herself.  The slightest of smiles touched her lips as she realized how shallow the statement sounded, even to her.  However, anything that occupied her mind, even for a brief second, was welcome in this place.  Dómiel could not tell how long she had lain in her tiny stone cell, without light or air; down in that hole, lit only by far-away torches, night and day blended together in a hazy twilight of sleep and alertness.  Her only measure of time was when a hunk of bread and a tiny skin of water would be tossed through the opening in the door – she could not bring herself to call it a window.  When this happened, Dómiel would drag her sore and protesting body across the stone floor, eat her meager meal, toss the water skin back out into the corridor, and crawl back to her pallet.  She had been tempted many a time to hold onto the water skin in order to fling it into her guards face, but, the first time she had been fed, the guard threatened to come into the cell and beat her if she failed to return the skin.  Helpless, Dómiel obeyed.

Now, however, the princess could do nothing save sleep.  And so, she closed her eyes against the terrifying sight of the close, dark, stone walls and willed her mind to rest.  As blessed unconsciousness – her only source of peace – descended upon her, her battered mind sent up a fleeting prayer.

_Let them come…or let me die._

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"No."

"Strider…"

"No!  It is too dangerous, my friend."

"And what other choice do we have, Aragorn?" Legolas asked.

Aragorn looked away.  "None…"

"You see?"

Aragorn glared at the elf.  "None…that we have discovered," he finished.

Knowing all too well the level of the human's stubbornness, Legolas resorted to different, and somewhat crueler, tactics.  "And would you have us waste any further time in a search?"

Pain flickered into Aragorn's gray eyes, but he finally nodded.  "You are right, my friend.  We have no other choice."

"Than let us go now," Legolas said, sliding his bow from his back and handing it to the man beside him.  "We must waste no further time."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

A sound invaded the thick haze in Dómiel's mind, causing her to spring to full alertness in a mere fraction of a second.  Remaining perfectly still, she strained her half-Elvish hearing toward the corridor beyond her heavy iron door.  No sounds broke the dull, oppressive silence.

With a sigh, Dómiel returned her head to the pallet.  A horrible thought pierced into her mind – _What if I am going insane?_  Normally, she would have instantly dismissed such a ludicrous thought instantly.  Now, however, her mind latched onto the new thought with the rabid desperation of a bored and overactive imagination.  She knew of no elves in all of history who had gone insane; in fact, the only being in all Middle Earth she had heard of who had gone insane was Faramir's father, Denethor.  Her tutors had told her the story – Denethor leaping up atop his own deathbed, threatening to light both himself and his still-living son aflame.

As Dómiel's mind edged closer and closer to sleep, a horrific vision sprang into being within her half-dreaming imagination.  She was seated on one of the pallets within the Houses of the Dead, sticks piled around her, as she held a flaming torch aloft.  In front of her, wavering and indistinct, stood her family and friends.  Her father and mother were both there – Father in his Ranger garb, and Mother in her robes, the two making an odd match.  Eldarion stood beside Gilraen, his hand laid protectively on his younger sister's shoulder.  There, too, stood Legolas the elf beside Gimli the dwarf, as well as her maids and Vandor.

Not one of the figures who stood before her moved to stop her as she waved the torch closer and closer to the oil-soaked wood.  Not even her own emotions could stop her arm.  Her body had left her control – closer and closer the torch came… 

"_Tarien?_"            _( "Princess?")_                   

The voice snapped Dómiel into full consciousness.  Slowly, silently, she raised herself to a sitting position, ears straining.  The voice did not come again.  _I truly am going insane,_ she told herself, panic rising in her heart.  _Now I hear voices that cannot be there._

Suddenly, the voice came again; this time, Dómiel could not ignore the soft, whispered voice, speaking in clear Elvish.

_"Estel tula, Tarien!"_

Desperate hope rose in tears from Dómiel's eyes.  _Hope comes,_ she translated instinctively.  It took her dulled and unused mind several long moments to connect the elvish word to the man it named.  "Estel!" she whispered desperately, "Father!"

No other sound came, so Dómiel fell back into silence.  This time, however, all thoughts of her own insanity had fled, and a smile flickered both about her lips and within her soft gray eyes.

The echo of the elvish voice within her mind chased away all shadows that haunted her.  "_Estel tula."_

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Shifting position restlessly, Aragorn swept the surrounding landscape with his sharp gaze.  Here in these mountains, no life stirred.  All was still and quiet.  Too quiet, to Aragorn's mind.  The waiting – though necessary – chafed horribly at his spirit.  His entire being longed for action.  Had he had his way, he would charge the main entrance of the cavern and force his way through to his beloved daughter.

_If Dómiel is here, _he reminded himself sternly.

His heart rebelled against that thought – to have come so far in pursuit, and yet fail now when he was so close was unthinkable!  And yet he knew he must at least consider the possibility that he had been misled.  He knew nothing of Telithar's character – the Mayor could have easily led him astray.  _Or she might have been here once…_  "No!" Aragorn whispered.  He refused to believe that she was dead.  _Nor will I until I see her body myself,_ he vowed.

Aragorn forced his mind from the horrible thoughts playing through it and made what seemed like his thousandth visual sweep of the area.  This time, however, a flash of light caught his eye.  Instinctively, he crouched down a bit further behind the boulder that hid him and focused his gaze on the patch of ground several feet down the hill.

Amidst the brown grass and rocks, a round-ish patch of brilliant yellow-white had appeared.  Aragorn risked raising himself a bit higher, mystified by this strange object.

Then, the light moved.

Aragorn dropped back down behind the rock.

And then the familiar head of Legolas the elf appeared above the ground, his bright blonde hair waving lightly in the soft breeze.

Aragorn's shoulders relaxed, and he rolled his eyes.  _That is what worrying does to a man,_ he scolded himself.  _What good are the so-called skills of a Ranger when I cannot even recognize an elf?_

By this time, Legolas had both hands atop the edge of the vertical tunnel he was crawling out of.  Suddenly, a noise like a snapping twig – though far louder – shot through the air, and Legolas vanished again.  Only the elf's fingertips could be seen, still clutching the edge.

Aragorn leapt out from his hiding place and hurried down to the tunnel's entrance.  By the time he got there, Legolas had found new footing below.  The man grabbed his friend's hand and hauled him free from the tunnel.

Neither man nor elf spoke a single sound as they crept down and around the hillside.  As they walked, Aragorn's movements grew more and more agitated, enough so that he failed to notice that the usually graceful Legolas was now moving with a slight limp.

The instant the two warriors reached the horses, Aragorn turned to the elf beside him.  "Did you find her?"

Legolas sat down on a small boulder.  "Yes," he said simply.

"And?"

The slightest hint of a smile touched the elf's face.  "I was only able to get a glimpse, but she seemed to be well.  If nothing else, she is alive and still capable of speech."

Relief broke onto Aragorn's heart, and he dropped down beside the elf.  "We have found her," he repeated slowly, as if attempting to convince himself.

"Indeed.  And, she knows we are here," Legolas added.

"How?"

"I was able to whisper a few words to her," the elf replied.  "She understood them, though no one else could have."

Nodding absently, Aragorn laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder.  "Thank you, my friend."  He sat for a long moment, gray eyes focused on thin air.  Then, suddenly, he leapt to his feet.  "Now, we must only figure out how to free her."

"Far more easily spoken than done," Legolas responded.  "The passages are crawling with guards, and the door to her cell is made of iron and locked firmly.  Only the chief guard carries the keys."

"Any other entrances?" Aragorn asked.

Legolas shook his head.  "Only the main entrance, which is far too heavily guarded, and the air vent I climbed down, which is too narrow for you and far too narrow for Dómiel to be lifted up."

"Then we are no better off than we have been since this began!" Aragorn exclaimed in despair.

"We know she is alive, Strider."

Silence fell upon the clearing.  For a long moment, the two warriors merely stared at each other, communicating without words.

Then, Aragorn spoke.  "I have an idea."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"I still do not like this, Strider.  It is too dangerous!"

"I seem to remember telling you that before you slid down that air shaft," Aragorn retorted.

Legolas sighed.  "That held far less danger than this idea!"

"Yes, but I won't slip," Aragorn's voice held a note of clear teasing.

Legolas sighed.  "Are you planning on holding that slight…miscalculation…over my head for the rest of this journey?"

Aragorn considered this for a moment.  "No - longer."

Suddenly, a teasing light slipped into the elf's eyes, as well.  "If it were not for the fact that you shall need all your strength in the coming hours, I would be forced to give you yet another lesson on the superiority of elvish coordination."

"Fortunately for me, you have more sense than that."  Aragorn knew all too well that Legolas would have no problems whatsoever in "teaching him a lesson." 

"Be careful, Aragorn."  Legolas' eyes held no merriment now.  "A slip now on your part will bring far more than a mere twisted ankle."

_It will bring all our deaths._

Neither said the words; they rang within both minds.

Without another word, Aragorn strode away back up the hill.

Legolas' sharp eyes followed the man until he disappeared behind the outcropping.  As he limped over to the horses to prepare for his part in the desperate plan, he whispered to the air, "He shall either succeed, or never walk this world again, and I shall be by his side. For on him rests now the fate of many."

_More Notes__: Here we go!!!  I will let you in on a little bit of a secret…this story is not nearly over yet!  After all, if things actually went according to plan, this fic would be really boring.  And I can't let that happen, now can I? =o)   Anyways, thank you for reading…and could you please, please review?  Please?  Especially if you liked it?  And even if you hated it?  (Can you tell I just want reviews?) =o)  Thank you!!!_

_Pepper VL – Well, you guessed wrong. =o)  But, don't worry…we're not finished yet!  Hope you liked this chapter._

_Sabercrazy – Thank you so much for your review!  I hope you liked this chapter, as well._

_Littlefish – Thank you for your continuing reviews!  I hope I have satisfied your curiosity a bit more…_

_Artemisa – Thank you for the encouraging review!!! (Sorry, I'm getting into a bit of a rut with the comments here…)_


	8. The Black Knife

**Crippled Prize**

**by Mizalaye**

_Author's Notes__: *Mizalaye ducks out of reach* I know, I know!  It's been **way** too long since I updated.  I'm really sorry!  All I can say is…life is crazy!  I promise the next chapter will not take me as long as this one did.  Thanks for sticking with me!_

**Chapter Eight: The Black Knife**

To say that Aragorn was completely calm would have been a lie.  Though the King of Gondor would never have admitted it, he was decidedly nervous – perhaps even scared.

_Of course, it is not merely my life at stake here,_ the Ranger reminded himself._  Dómiel is counting on me.  And I shall not fail her._

This thought foremost in his mind, Aragorn brought his attention back to his surroundings.  He was being led – none too gently – into a large, open cavern.  As he walked, he rotated his wrists unobtrusively, attempting to restore the feeling to them.  He had spent the last several hours bound to a chair while several men – all identically cloaked in black – interrogated him.  Then, inexplicably, his bonds had been cut and he had been told to follow two of the men.  He could only hope that this meant they had bought his cover story, and not that he was being led to his execution.

_I will not go down without a fight,_ he swore mentally._  If I must die here, than so be it, but I will not leave my daughter in the hands of these fiends!_

Now Aragorn's guards were moving away, leaving him standing alone in the center of the torch-lit cavern.

"So, assassin, you wish to join our ranks?"  The voice seemed to come from everywhere as it bounced off the rock walls.  

Aragorn couldn't tell which of the shadowy figures surrounding him had spoken, so he simply addressed the air in front of him.  "Why else would I be here?"

"Do not dare to insult the Keeper of Life!" the voice bellowed.  "Answer the question or answer with your life!"

Aragorn did not allow any reaction to touch his face.  "Yes, I wish to join you."

"Then prove your worth!"

Aragorn felt more than saw the blade's descent, and barely managed to avoid losing an arm to the vicious swing.  Twisting around, he saw a huge, armor-clad man who was wielding a sword longer than Aragorn's arm as if it were a mere rapier.  

And now that sword was flying towards him again.  Once again, the massive blade came within inches of Aragorn's body.  

The memories and instincts of decades of sword fighting were flowing back through his body now, and the next several swings missed by at least a foot as the Ranger ducked and weaved.  However, Aragorn knew full well that his chances of winning were slim as long as his opponent was armed and he was not.  So, he began leading the other man toward the edge of the room.

It was a gamble, because Aragorn did not know the customs of these people – the spectators that ringed the room might very well be permitted to simply gut him if he came too close.  However, Aragorn was hoping that the codes surrounding this clearly ceremonial fight prevented interference.

Much to his relief, the two men standing in the corner he approached made no move to attack him.  Even more to his relief, the closer one had a sword strapped to his back.

Aragorn ducked a swing aimed for his neck, sprang sideways to put himself between the wall and the closer of the two bystanders, and then leapt straight up, grabbing the hilt of the man's sword and whipping it out of its sheath in one fierce motion.

Before the man could react to the theft of his blade – which Aragorn was rather surprised had actually worked – the Ranger sprinted back to the center of the cavern.  His opponent, who moved quite quickly for a man of his size, was right behind him.

Now, however, the odds were quite clearly in Aragorn's favor.  He had been trained by both Rangers and Elves, and his reflexes were unmatched by any mortal.

A bare two minutes later, the man's massive blade flew from his hands, landing somewhere in the shadows.

Aragorn held his own sword to the man's throat, but made no move to kill him.  "Do you concede the match?"

The other man nodded, so Aragorn stepped back, dropping his sword-tip.

The voice came again. "Well done, Stranger."  Then, from the shadows stepped an old man.  Though his hair was white, he stood erect and walked with no hint of a hobble.  It was clear from his build that he had, at one time, been a fighter himself.

Aragorn's opponent nodded respectfully to the old man and retreated back into the shadows.

"I am the Keeper of Life," the old man said solemnly.  "You, Stranger, have passed all but the last test."  Then, he clapped his hands twice.

A boy of perhaps twelve stepped out of the shadows, a black pillow cradled almost reverently in his hands.  Complete silence dropped onto the room when the boy appeared.  Aragorn could feel all eyes focused on the three of them – the old man; the boy; and him, the Stranger.

Resting on the pillow, as Aragorn saw when the boy stopped just behind the old man, was a black-hilted dagger.  An oily substance covered the ten-inch blade, causing it to glimmer ominously in the flickering torchlight.  

"This is the final test.  You must now either choose death or bind yourself to the Knife and the Brotherhood for all time."

"My choice has already been made," Aragorn replied without hesitation.  "I wish to join your ranks."

The old man gestured for Aragorn to extend his right hand, palm up.  Then, slowly and ceremoniously, he rolled Aragorn's sleeve up, placed the tip of the blade just below the joint of Aragorn's elbow, and scored a long, but shallow, cut down the entire length of his forearm.

Aragorn forced his face to remain expressionless as fire seemed to race away from the knife-point, up his arm, and through his entire body.

Seeing that he was not going to react with pain, the old man returned the knife to the pillow and turned to address the room.  "He has passed the final test!  He is now one of us.  Now, we shall drink!"

The boy, who had taken the knife back into some chamber in the shadows, now returned, carrying a large metal goblet.  The old man raised the goblet to show the room, then sipped from it.  Handing it to Aragorn, he instructed, "Drink, but not deeply."

Obediently, Aragorn sipped from the goblet and handed it back to the old man.  One by one, the figures which had lined the walls now came to the center and drank from the goblet before slipping from the chamber.

When all had drank, the old man and the boy vanished into the shadows once more, leaving Aragorn alone with a tall, slender man who, by the scars on his face, had seen many battles.  "My name is Rechnet," he said.  "You have questions, I am sure.  I will answer as many as I can."

"What just happened?" Aragorn asked.

"You were tested.  We had to be sure you were sincere in your desire to join us and that you had the skills to survive here.  That was the purpose for the questioning and the test of battle, which you passed."  Rechnet nodded to the stolen sword still in Aragorn's left hand.  "That blade is yours now, Stranger, as is your name, until you earn yourself a new one by your deeds."

"And the knife?"

Rechnet smiled ever so slightly and pushed up his right sleeve.  A thin scar ran the entire length of his forearm in the exact position of the cut on Aragorn's arm.  "It is our initiation and our proof of loyalty here.  The Black Knife is dipped in a special poison."

Aragorn nodded.  That had been immediately clear to him.

"Each night, we drink from the goblet," Rechnet went on.  "In the goblet is a type of antidote to the Knife's poison.  But, if you do not drink from the goblet for forty-eight hours, the poison begins to work.  You have only three days in total to drink from the goblet.  After that, death is unavoidable…and slow."

Ice crept up from Aragorn's belly, and he had to remind himself to keep breathing.  He had heard of such poisons before, and had even heard that they were used as loyalty controls, but he had never expected to be bound by such poison to a band of murderers he had no plans of remaining loyal to.  The ice of fear was quickly followed by steely determination.  _I swore to bring my daughter home,_ he reminded himself.  _If I die in the attempt, so be it._

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The walls of the cell seemed to waver in Dómiel's vision.  Roughly, she dashed the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands.  _Be patient,_ she ordered herself.  Still, she could not keep despair from creeping back into her heart.  _He said Father was coming._

_Who said?_

_The elf._

_But who was it? You never saw him.  What if it was your own imagination?_

Dómiel wanted to scream at the inner voice of doubt.  _Father's coming.  He has to be!  He just has to be!_

Finally, however, the tears came and she couldn't hold them back.  _Please, Daddy,_ her mind begged, _come soon.  Please come soon…_

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

As Aragorn was led through the next three days of instruction and "adjustment," he kept his senses alert for any news of his daughter.  He loathed even the thought of leaving her alone and still trapped, but he had to wait until the others trusted him enough to let him out of their sight.

And yet, any time he thought of the plan he and Legolas had put together for Dómiel's rescue, Rechnet's words crept back into his mind.

_ "You have only three days to drink from the goblet.  After that, death is unavoidable…and slow."_

_Three days._

_Author's Notes__: Yet again, thank you for your patience…and thank you for your reviews!!!  Please continue to review!  Please?  Thank you!=o)_

_cay – Thank you for the review.  I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_c_carol – Thank you for reviewing…and you're right…sort of =o)  Dómiel is slightly more than three-eighths Elven…so, if you go by strict numbers, she is very close to half-Elven.  However, I realized that the term "Half-Elven" refers to those such as Elrond and Elrond's children (such as Arwen) who are allowed to choose whether they are going to be Elven or mortal.  So, in that sense, she isn't Half-Elven.  I've decided to not give her the title…but I have left the phrase in there if it is referring to, say, her hearing, since she is genetically almost half-elven.  I could be way off in this…but there's my opinion. =o)_

_Jinn – Thank you for your encouraging review.  I'm so glad that you like my story!  I'm also glad that you like it long…'cause we have a ways to go yet! =o)  I hope you liked this chapter, too._

_sabercrazy – I'm afraid shouting won't help. *grins*  You're just going to have to keep reading and find out what happens.  But thank you for reviewing.  Did you like this chapter?_

_SapphireRose - *clears throat* Please rise.   I doth thank thee for thy most profuse apology…uhm…er…ok, cutting the Shakespeare.  You're better at that than I am.  I'm glad you have been liking it so far, and I'm also glad you finally reviewed!  Though, you are still my Faithful Reviewer. =o)_


	9. Flight from Darkness

**Crippled Prize**

**by Mizalaye**

_Author's Notes__: Yes, it's another apology for how long this took me.  I'm afraid school and finals and Christmas caught up with me… This chapter is long, so I hope that at least partially makes up for how long it took to arrive!  Thank you for your patience!_

**Chapter Nine: Flight from Darkness**

_It is time.  _Aragorn took a deep breath and pulled his hood a bit lower over his face, further obscuring his features.  Keeping his face turned carefully toward the ground, he headed toward the dungeons.

Not a word had been spoken in the presence of the Stranger, as Aragorn was still called, regarding his daughter.  However, Aragorn had always been good at gathering information unnoticed.  It was a skill that had served him well during his years as a Ranger and continued to aid him as King of Gondor.  It certainly aided him here.  Whispers in the shadows – mere snatches of conversation, usually – had told him all he needed to know about his daughter.

Now the time had come to make good on his word and set her free.

The guards who patrolled the dim, oppressive dungeon corridors deep in the mountains paid no special attention to Aragorn as he strode past.  In their eyes, he was one of them, and seemed to have a purpose.  Whatever business had brought him down so deep was not their concern, after all.  And that was exactly the way Aragorn wanted it.

Never wavering, never slowing, Aragorn made his way to a far corner of the dungeons.  A guard stood there, clearly bored with his assignment.  The slightest of smiles touched Aragorn's mouth within the shadows of his hood.  He knew this man – this was going to be simpler than he had hoped.

"Negter," he greeted the man.  "Gribshaw sent me to find you.  He has an assignment for you.  I am to finish your shift here."

Negter gave him a humorless smile.  "Enjoy."  Gladly, he thrust his spear into Aragorn's hands and hurried back down the corridor.

Aragorn remained motionless until Negter rounded the corner.  Then, he allowed himself a slight smile.  _If my luck holds, it will take Negter at least an hour to discover that Gribshaw was sent on an assignment himself last night.  And if my luck doesn't hold… _ He pushed that thought from his mind.

Glancing up at the narrow ventilation shaft above him, Aragorn whistled softly.  Moments later, a pair of booted feet appeared in the opening.  After a bit of wriggling, Legolas dropped easily to the ground.

"It is good to see you again, _mellon,_" Aragorn said.  "We must be silent."

Legolas nodded in response to the greeting and handed Aragorn a sheathed sword.  "I think you will feel better with this in your hand once more."

Aragorn tossed the enemy's sword and spear away with relief, and took up Andúril once more.  "Indeed, I do feel better."

Without another word, Legolas turned and led the way down the dank corridor on silent elven feet.

The two warriors encountered two guards in the passages before they reached Dómiel's cell.  In his garb as one of their own, Aragorn was able to distract both of the guards long enough for Legolas to bring his knife-hilt down onto their heads.  They left both guards tied and gagged in the corridor, but were sure to remove the keys from the chief guard's belt after trussing him.

When he reached the correct passage, Legolas began to jog.  He knew that time was now their enemy – even if their luck held, they had only minutes before someone discovered them.  The final obstacle was the guard directly in front of Dómiel's cell.

And it was the final obstacle that was to be their undoing.  The guard turned and spotted what appeared to be one of his own charging at him with a drawn sword, led by a being who was decidedly not human.  And, in that moment, the guard saw through the disguise and realized the truth that a desperate bluff and a rough disguise had hidden from every other man in these caves.  He saw the King of Gondor.

Aragorn and Legolas moved with inhuman speed, but they were not quick enough. 

 "Intruders!  Sound the alert!"  The guards cries bounced off rock and iron, sending echoes of despair though the caves and into two warriors' hearts.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Dómiel's head snapped up as fear slipped into her heart.  The guard had screamed "intruders"!  "Father?" she whispered.  But if the guard was sounding the alert…then they would be captured as well.  "No!" she cried, her voice raspy and choked with unshed tears.

Her sharp ears picked out the sounds of a brutal struggle in the corridor beyond.  Hope fluttered in her heart, refusing to die.  _Perhaps…perhaps…_

Suddenly, the sounds stopped, and the dungeons went silent for one long moment.

Then, the sounds of approaching men drifted to her sharp ears.  The other black-robed men were coming.

A key ground in the lock on her cell door, but the lock did not give.  Dómiel heard clanking metal, and then another key was tried.

The princess swallowed hard, driving down her fear.  Whoever was coming, she would face them as she had been taught – as a Princess of Gondor.  She tried to straighten up, but her sore and cramped muscles would not allow her to rise further than a half-sitting, half-reclining position.  So, she lifted her chin and waited.

Another key creaked into the keyhole, and the lock slid open.  The massive iron door swung aside, revealing a cloaked figure.  It was one of the soldiers.

A cry of dashed hope and fear passed Dómiel's lips before she could stop its escape.  Her exhausted muscles gave way at last, and she collapsed limply to the ground.

"Dómiel?  Dómiel!"

The voice of the soldier was hauntingly familiar, as was the gentle touch on her forehead.  Trembling, Dómiel turned her eyes up to the soldier's face – and met the soft, fearful eyes of her father.

"Daddy?"

"Dómiel, my child!  You're safe!"  Aragorn grabbed his daughter up into his arms and, for a moment, simply held her tightly against his chest.  "I'm so glad you're safe."

"I knew you would come," Dómiel whispered as she flung her arms around her father's neck.  "I knew you would not leave me here."

"Aragorn!" Legolas' slightly strained voice broke into the reunion between father and daughter.

"Come, my child," Aragorn said softly.  "We must hurry now."  His daughter cradled in his arms, he hurried out of the cell.

"Quickly!"  Legolas turned and sprinted down the corridor, Aragorn right behind him.  All three of the escapees could hear the oncoming roar of the double-crossed criminals, crying out for the blood of those who had betrayed them.

Ducking through back tunnels, weaving a crooked path through the dungeons, the three managed to reach the main caves before they were seen.

The black-cloaked men before them seemed unaware of the impending escape until they caught sight of Aragorn with Dómiel in his arms.  Then realization hit, and they charged the escaping trio, blades eager for blood.

With his daughter in his arms, Aragorn could do little to defend himself.  Dómiel clung to her father, doing all she could to remain in his arms as he twisted and ducked, avoiding the vicious blades.  Legolas leapt between the two and their attackers, elven knives weaving a net of silver around him.  Within minutes, the guards had been dispatched.

However, the mob behind them had used the time to narrow the distance between them and their prey.  Aragorn and Legolas began to sprint once more for the main door and the free air.  Dómiel buried her face in her father's shoulder and wished desperately that she could somehow aid their flight, that she could be anything except the burden she was.

They met nine more black-cloaked men before the main door came into view.  Legolas dispatched each in turn, but each encounter cost them precious time.  By the time the sunlight was in sight, the mob was nearly upon them.

Without breaking stride, Aragorn practically threw Dómiel into Legolas' arms.  "You are swifter!" he cried.  "Take her!"  The two ran side by side until they reached the hole that served as front gate.  Aragorn removed the guards with two swings of Andúril.  Legolas somehow managed to keep his pace while bending double and bolted into the outside air.  Aragorn followed behind, but the delay involved in going through one by one drained what time remained to them.

The furious mob of assassins, thieves, and cutthroats reached them.

Aragorn halted his flight and turned to meet them, Andúril seeming to sing through the air.  "Run, Legolas!" he cried.  "Take her and run!"

With a slight cry of despair, Legolas obeyed.  Clutching Dómiel tighter in his arms, the elf sprinted toward the horses.

"NO!" Dómiel screamed, but Legolas did not falter.

"Go back, please!" the princess cried.  "You can't just leave him!"

"I swore to your father that I would do whatever it took to keep you safe," Legolas replied, an edge of pain in his voice.  "Even if it meant leaving him behind."

"I won't leave him!" Dómiel retorted through the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes.  "Please go back," she begged.

Legolas had reached the horses now.  "Come, Dómiel."  He leapt easily atop his mount and steadied the crippled princess in front of him.

"I'm safe now," Dómiel said stubbornly.  "Go back and help him, Legolas.  Please!  I won't leave without him."

Legolas hesitated for a long moment.  The promise he had made to Aragorn just before the man went into the caves rang in his ears, but the vision of his dear friend facing that mob alone filled his vision.  And Dómiel's desperate pleas were quickly filling his ears, driving out the thoughts of his promise.  _I will accept whatever penalty I must for breaking my word if it means Aragorn's life._

With a battle-cry, Legolas ripped the tether of the other horse free and, leading it, urged his own mount back toward the caves.

Dómiel wrapped both hands in the horse's mane, steadying herself and allowing Legolas to keep his hand free.  She found that, with a good deal of concentration, she could use her arm and torso muscles to keep her balance on the running horse unaided by the elf.  Ignoring the pain that balancing herself sent coursing through her legs, she twisted away from Legolas' grip.

Realizing the girl could keep aboard unaided, Legolas released his hold on her and drew one of his knives in his now-free hand.

Both elf and girl held their breath unwittingly, fearful of what they would find when their horse crested the hill.

To the immense relief of both, Aragorn remained on his feet, Andúril still swinging.  Bodies littered the ground around him, but the mob did not seem to be much diminished, and the King's strength was clearly beginning to fade.  Numerous small wounds already decorated his face and torso.

"Aragorn!" Legolas cried.

The righteous wrath in Aragorn's eyes was partially replaced by fear when he saw his daughter riding back into danger.  However, fear was replaced in turn by relief when he caught sight of his horse, his escape.

Legolas urged his mount toward the battle, whispering to it in Sindarin.  Using the horse's weight coupled with his swift knife, he forced a path through to where Aragorn fought.

Aragorn pulled Andúril free from the body of an assassin who had just attempted to put a knife through his chest, grabbed the saddle of the riderless horse and swung easily aboard.  Side by side now, Legolas and Aragorn carved a path back through the mob with their blades.  The instant they were free from the group, both man and elf kicked their horses into a run, and the obedient mounts tore away from the caves.

For nearly a quarter hour, man, elf, and girl rode in silence, their only thought to escape those who pursued them.  However, when no hoofbeats followed, they halted long enough to transfer Dómiel to her father's mount.

Aragorn held his daughter close to him, as if fearful she would be ripped away again.  "You're safe," he whispered hoarsely.  

The truth of those words washed over Dómiel's weary mind.  "I'm…safe…" she whispered in reply.

"Yes, my daughter.  You are truly safe now.  I will not allow you to be harmed again.  I swear it."  

In that moment, all Dómiel's hopes became reality.  The fear that had held her heart prisoner for as long as her body remained behind bars finally drained away from her, and she collapsed limply against her father in pure relief.

Aragorn tightened the arm that held her close and rode on.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The sound of approaching horses woke Dómiel.  She had somehow managed to doze off while in the saddle.  "Father?" she whispered.

Aragorn's jaw was tight, but whether it was from fury or fear, Dómiel could not tell.  "We have been found."

Without warning, men on horseback burst from the trees on both sides, strung bows in hand.  Legolas' own bow was in his own hands and one of the black-cloaked riders was downed before any of their attackers could fire.  But it was not enough.

Three riders converged upon Aragorn's mount.  One he dispatched quickly, but one of the others slipped past his guard, grabbed Dómiel, and began dragging her from the saddle.

Aragorn hauled back on the reins, stopping his mount to prevent his daughter from being dragged under the hooves.  However, this gave the attacker enough time to haul Dómiel away from her father and onto his own horse.

Dómiel cried out in pain as her legs swung and twisted beneath her.  Then, she was pressed awkwardly across the other man's saddle and a sharp and deadly blade was laid beneath her jaw.

"Surrender or I slice her pretty little throat!" Dómiel's attacker cried.

Dómiel's world faded into blackness. 

_*Miz ducks*  I know it's a bit of a cliffhanger…but please don't hurt me too badly!  If you like what you're reading, please make the author happy and review!  Reviews make me want to post faster…(I know it's blackmail)!  Thank you to those who faithfully review this story!_

_sabercrazy – Thank you for reviewing!  I'm afraid I can't answer that question…you'll just have to wait and find out! *ducks*_

_SapphireRose – And you thought LAST chapter was a "loose ends" chapter?  *grins* I hope you enjoyed this "loose ends" chapter, as well! Thanks for reviewing!_

_Noel – YES, I've written more! It just took me a while…=o)  Thank you for reviewing!_

_Littlefish – Thank you very much for your long and detailed review.  It's nice to hear some specifics about what people like!  I think you found out what Legolas' role in all this was…I tried to answer the question about Aragorn in the story. He was disguised a little bit, but, basically, they weren't expecting the King of Gondor, so they didn't see him.  It's hiding in plain sight, if you will!  Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	10. The Turn of the Tide

**Crippled Prize**

**by Mizalaye**

**Chapter Ten: The Turn of the Tide**

Dómiel wanted to scream.

It simply wasn't _fair_!  She had spent days – or was it weeks? – in that little cell, hoping that somehow, against all odds, she would be rescued.  And then, in a moment, her dream came true – her father and Legolas appeared and spirited her to safety.

And then, just as quickly, her dream had shattered.

Her mount was now heading in the wrong direction, back toward the cell she had just escaped.  In front of her, both her father and Legolas rode quietly, hands bound behind their backs.  Though the blade had been removed from her throat, the soldier who rode behind her was armed and knew his orders – should either of the warriors attempt to escape, her life was forfeit.  

Tears began to slip from Dómiel's eyes once more.  Slowly, moving casually so as not to give the soldier in the saddle behind her the pleasure of knowing he had made a Princess of Gondor cry, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks.  _At least this time they did not bind my hands,_ she said to herself.  Without her specially crafted saddle, Dómiel needed her hands free to keep her balance on the horse.  When the soldiers had realized this, they had settled for tying her directly onto the horse.

Sadly, Dómiel raised her eyes to stare once more at her father's back.  It seemed so strange to see the King of Gondor riding as a prisoner, hands bound tightly behind his back.  Dómiel glared fiercely at the rough ropes, wishing she could will them off of her father's wrists.  _Wait…_

Aragorn's wrists were moving ever so slightly, twisting within the tight bonds.  Careful not to lean forward and so alert the soldier behind her,  Dómiel squinted, trying to make out what her father was doing.  Aragorn's wrists gave one final twitch, and the inside of the ropes, the side away from enemy eyes, dropped into his hands.  Dómiel choked back a gasp.  He was free!  Aragorn had managed to twist free of his bonds!

And yet the King of Gondor remained still, not attempting escape.

_Why does he hesitate?  _Dómiel wondered.  _He will have no better opportunity than the one he now has, while our guards are confident in his refusal to escape…_  Her stomach wrenched, and for a moment, Dómiel felt ill.  Of course her father refused to escape.  He would never do anything that would put his daughter at risk.  _Even if it means his life._  She wanted to cry out, "Fly, father!" but did not dare.

She allowed her head to drop in utter despair.  _I can do nothing.  My father and I and Legolas all shall die…because of me._  

As guilt threatened to overwhelm the princess' already dangerously overtaxed mind, Dómiel felt a scream building up within her.  Ruthlessly, she bit down on her lower lip, physically preventing the scream's escape.  She could not cry out now – not with her father so close.  _I will be strong for him,_ she ordered herself.  _He has not lost faith…I can not, either._  Another tear slid down her cheek before she could blink it away.

Suddenly, Legolas' words to her in the dungeons rang in her mind.  "_Estel tula. _- hope comes."  _Hope has come,_ Dómiel retorted mentally to Legolas' voice.  _And it rides in front of me, bound like a criminal._

Idly, Dómiel studied the horse she now rode.  The brown mare bore clear signs of her frantic dash to recapture the prisoners – her tangled mane was dotted with twigs and dirt and thorns.

_Thorns._

Guilt, despair, and even exhaustion drained from the princess' mind in a moment of inspiration and were replaced by a desperate plan.  _Do I dare?_ she wondered, remembering the soldier holding the reins of the mare she rode and the others that flanked the party.  Then, she glanced up at her father's still figure.  Beyond him, she could just see Legolas, riding just as quietly.  _Do I dare not to?_

Dómiel took a deep, silent breath and gathered up what energy still remained to her.  Then, she feigned a swoon and fell forward onto the mare's neck.  The soldier behind her was a bit slow to react, which was just as she had hoped.  The princess had exactly enough time to work a particularly vicious thorn free from the mare's mane and begin to mutter savagely in Sindarin.

Many years ago, when her father was teaching her how to ride, he had told her that horses responded quite well to Sindarin.  Over her years of riding, Dómiel had discovered the truth of this herself.  A few words in the elven language could calm a skittish horse, or prod a meek one into action.  She would often murmur to her mount in Sindarin to spur it on or calm it, but she had never attempted to convince a horse to spook by using the language.

She could only hope that it would work.

Almost immediately after Dómiel began trying to convince her to run, the brown mare began shifting her weight nervously.  Encouraged, Dómiel's words became more insistent, firmer.  Then, steeling herself, she cried aloud in Sindarin, jabbed the mare firmly with the thorn in her hand, and fell backward.

Obligingly, the mare jumped and bolted away from the main group.  The soldier riding behind Dómiel cursed and hauled on the reins, attempting to halt the now-racing horse.  The mare, however, had stopped listening to her master; her actions were now entirely influenced by the steady stream of Sindarin in her ears and the occasional jab from the thorn.

It took the soldier a few moments to realize that it was his prisoner who was spooking his mount.  Screaming something about an "elf witch," the man reached for his sword to carry out his orders and execute the girl.

Dómiel, however, had prepared for this.  When the mare had bolted, she had fallen backward, making it look as if she was unprepared for the sudden movement.  When she fell, however, she placed all her weight on top of the soldier's sword-hilt and then grabbed the back of the soldier's tunic with the hand that wasn't holding the thorn.  While this left her in a rather awkward position on the horse, the rope tying her to the mare meant she was in no danger of falling off, and her position neatly prevented the soldier from reaching his weapon.

Predictably enough, the soldier tried to shove Dómiel forward to free his weapon.  What he was not prepared for, though, was the surprising amount of upper-body strength the girl possessed for one her age.  For a moment, the soldier struggled with her.  Then, he momentarily released the reins, grabbed Dómiel by both shoulders and practically flung her forward onto the mare's neck.

Immediately, Dómiel called out fiercely in Sindarin, grabbed hold of the mare's mane with her left hand, and stabbed the thorn into the mare's side with her right.

Just as the soldier's sword cleared its sheath, the mare reared back, letting out a cross between a neigh and a scream of pain.  In a desperate attempt to remain in the saddle, the soldier flung one arm around Dómiel's waist.  The princess, with a cry of rage, drove the thorn she had been using to spur on the mare into the soldier's forearm.  The man obligingly released her and slid unceremoniously off the mare's rump, landing with a grunt of pain.

As soon as the mare's front hooves touched solid earth once more, Dómiel urged her onward.  Obediently, the horse galloped away, leaving the soldier in a heap on the ground far behind.  Once she was certain the man could not catch up with her again, Dómiel turned her mare toward where she thought she had left her father and Legolas.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Legolas half-turned in his saddle when Dómiel's first cry in Sindarin reached his ears.  The slightest of smiles touched the elf's stoic features when he saw the princess' mount bolt away from the main group, urged on by her rider's words.  Taking full advantage of the distraction, the elf sprang into action.  Though his wrists were still bound, Legolas half-fell off his own horse and ran back towards Aragorn, who had somehow managed to slip his own bonds.

Before he could reach his friend, however, his path was cut off by two armed men on horseback.  _At least no archers rode with this group,_ Legolas thought as he easily dodged the men's swords.  Dodging left, Legolas forced both men to turn their mounts in order to keep him within their weapons' range.  Then, faster than they could follow, he leaped right and slipped past them.

Aragorn had managed to rip a sword from its owner's hands and was wreaking a good deal of havoc among the soldiers.  Legolas slid to a halt beside his good friend and turned his back to him.  As soon as Aragorn had a moment's breathing space, he placed his sword-blade against Legolas' bonds and slit them.  Immediately, Legolas grabbed a passing horseman by the arm, hauled him bodily off of his mount and swung aboard in his place.

It did not take long for the two trained warriors to either dispatch or at least knock unconscious all of the soldiers who had guarded them.  Legolas slid off the mount he still rode and hurried over to Aragorn, who was bent over and breathing hard.  "Are you wounded?" he asked.

Aragorn straightened slowly.  "Not severely," he replied.  His tunic now bore a long tear, revealing the chain mail beneath.  "Though you are," he added, giving the elf a severe look.

Legolas looked down and, for the first time, noticed a deep gash running from just below his collarbone across his left shoulder.  "Indeed I am," he replied wryly.

After a moment's search, Aragorn located both his and Legolas' original mounts.  "We should leave this place," he said.  "Your wound will keep until we find Dómiel."

Wordlessly, Legolas nodded and began chasing the horses away from where their masters lay unmoving, robbing the soldiers of any rapid means of transportation if any of them were to wake.  When only their two mounts remained, he swung aboard his horse and followed Aragorn in the direction Dómiel had ridden.

After a few minutes of riding, Aragorn slowed his horse slightly, dropping back to ride beside Legolas. 

 "Legolas, there is something I must tell you before we find Dómiel," Aragorn said softly.  "I do not wish her to worry, but I must tell you what happened so that you will be prepared."  He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.  "While I was in that cave with those men, I was forced to undergo an…initiation, if you will.  It involved poison."

The slightest hint of fear crept into Legolas' eyes as he absorbed this calm statement.

"I was given an antidote, but told that, without drinking of the antidote daily, I would die.  They told me that, should I rebel, I would have three days to live."  Aragorn looked Legolas firmly in the eye.  "I will not survive to see Minas Tirith again."

"Can you do nothing?" Legolas asked.

"I will use what herb knowledge I possess," Aragorn replied.  "But I do not know what poison was used.  I do not know if I can slow the poison's progress, but I do not expect to live to see my home again.  Legolas, swear to me that, whatever happens to me, you will see my daughter safely home."

"Aragorn, I-"

"Swear it!" Aragorn demanded.

Everything within Legolas demanded that he not give in.  Death was not altogether foreign to Legolas – he had watched many a friend fall into its grasp.  But never had death touched someone so close to him.  He refused to believe that Aragorn – his closest friend other than Gimli – was going to die before his eyes.  The vow Aragorn demanded seemed to him to be an admission of defeat.  And yet his honor required that he agree.  "I swear it, Aragorn.  I will see Dómiel safely back to Gondor."

"Good."

"Hold!" Legolas drew his mount to a halt.  His sensitive ears had picked out a familiar sound – hoofbeats.  "Someone draws near."

Aragorn drew Andúril from its sheath.  "Let them come.  I am ready for them."

Legolas shook his head.  "They will pass us by."

"How many?"  Aragorn could hear the hoofbeats himself, now.

Legolas cocked his head.  "One.  And he rides awkwardly.  Possibly a wounded survivor."

"Or the man who rode with Dómiel!" Aragorn muttered.  Then, with a cry of near-animal rage, he urged his mount forward, toward the approaching horse.

"Father!"

Aragorn slid to a halt just in front of the brown mare who had burst from the thicket in front of him.

"Dómiel!"

The princess of Gondor cried out with joy.

Aragorn slid to the ground and leapt atop his daughter's mount.  Wrapping her firmly in his arms, his whispered, "My daughter."  Then, common sense reasserted itself.  "We must ride onward, and quickly.  Our lead is greater now, and yet we must ride swiftly if we are to win this race.  For race it has become.  The first to Minas Tirith shall win."

Legolas quickly transferred Aragorn's saddlebags to his own mount, set Aragorn's horse loose, and leapt aboard his own horse.

Once more, two horses, bearing three riders, galloped away from Mordor and toward Minas Tirith.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Legolas glanced worriedly at the horse beside his.  They had stopped only once, nearly a day's ride ago now.   After binding Legolas' wound, Aragorn had taken what medicine he could, but the King was now beginning to show signs of intense fatigue.  The princess had fallen asleep a few hours ago, and rested peacefully in her father's arms.

"Aragorn?" Legolas called softly.

"Mm?"

"Aragorn!"

The man did not react.  Then, sickeningly slowly, he slid to one side and simply slipped off his mount.

The movement woke Dómiel, who could not choke back a cry at the sight of her father lying on the ground, though she managed to remain aboard the mare.

Legolas was at his friend's side in a moment.  One glance told the story.  Aragorn's skin had paled to an unnatural shade, and his grey eyes were veined with red.  A slight yellow tinge ringed his lips.  The elf fought the urge to wince.  Aragorn was not exhausted – he was deathly ill.

The poison of the Black Knife was working its revenge.

_Note__: I love my reviewers!  Please, if you like what you're reading (and want to find out what happens), review!  Thank you._

_Elroclya – I'm so glad I have a new reviewer.  There isn't much Legolas angst in this chapter, but there is a little.  There will be more in the next chapter, I promise!  Thanks for reviewing._

_Chianna – Thank you for the reviews.  I have tried to get "into Legolas' head" a bit more in this chapter (since I realized I have been neglecting him a bit).  I hope you liked it!  (And look for more Legolas in my next chapter.)_

_sabercrazy – I'm afraid not.  Giving the good guys a break makes a much more boring story!  Thank you for reviewing – I hope you enjoyed this chapter._

_Littlefish – Thank you for the review.  I'm afraid I'm still making you wait to find out about Aragorn.  I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_My anonymous reviewer(s) – Thank you for the review…were both of those yours, or do I have two anonymous reviewers?  Just wondering._

_Mendy –Dómiel is fifteen.  I made that comment in the second chapter, but it's been a while. =o) Thanks for your review!_

_SapphireRose – I don't like loose ends…in other people's fics.  I like them in my own, because I know what's going to happen! *evil grin* Thanks for the review!_


	11. The Grief That Can't Be Spoken

**Crippled Prize**

**by Mizalaye**

_And More Notes__: Hello again…yeah, it's yet another apology.  A bad case of writer's block combined with a worse case of "busy," and so this chapter took 2 months.  My deepest apologies to those who are reading this story and have been waiting patiently for me to update.  We're nearly done, though!  Thank you so much to those who haven't given me up for dead yet.  As always, the Elvish is a bit rough – feel free to correct it if you know better!_

_This chapter is for those of my reviewers who asked for more Legolas! Hope you enjoy. =o)_

_Mellonín = my friend; Ionín = my son_

**Chapter Eleven: The Grief That Can't Be Spoken**

The stillness of the air was broken only by soft sobbing.

For the first time in his long life, Legolas regretted his elven hearing.  Mortal ears would not pick up every hiccup and sob coming from the girl who rode before him.  Legolas had seen tears many times before, and he knew he would see them many times again, but this time, the tears seemed to burn their way into his heart.  He did not blame Dómiel for crying – in another place, tears might have touched his eyes, as well.  But not now.  Now he had to be strong for her.

_Are you truly being strong for her?_ he asked himself.  _Or is it simply that elven pride Gimli needles you about so constantly?_

Unwilling to face that particular question, Legolas turned his attention to the horse behind him.  He had managed to sling Aragorn across the saddle and tie him into place with the ropes that had held Dómiel.  He knew Aragorn would never have submitted to such an indignity were he conscious, but the ropes held him onto the horse and allowed Legolas to escort him home.

A slight noise caught the elf's attention, and for a moment he stiffened, scanning the area.  When he was satisfied that it was merely a bird flying over, he relaxed slightly, but the tension never left his shoulders.  He prayed he would not hear their pursuers, for if he did, they would be too close to keep at the slow trot he held the horses to.  If their pursuers neared, Legolas knew he would be forced to abandon Aragorn and his horse and ride hard for Minas Tirith.

And Legolas wasn't sure he would be able to do that.

Vow or no vow, Aragorn was one of his dearest friends.  Ever since they met, when the human was a very young Ranger, they had ridden together, fought together, and forged a bond Legolas had once though impossible between an elf and a mortal man.

_Hold on, mellonín,_ Legolas ordered his friend silently.  _Just hold on._

Dómiel's sobbing stilled, and Legolas realized she had fallen asleep.  Carefully, so as not to wake her, the elf shifted positions slightly to better support her.

_"Îdho__,__ sellmuin,"_ he whispered.  _"A oltha o einmaer  lûi"_  

_"Sleep, dear child, and dream of better days."_

As Legolas continued to ride, his thoughts turned forward to Gondor.  _What will Arwen say when I bring her husband back in such a state?_  _Will she forgive me, I wonder, for not insisting on taking the more dangerous place?_  Deep in his heart, Legolas knew the answer.  Yes, Arwen would forgive him.  As tender-hearted as she was, the Evenstar would never blame an old friend for the death of her husband.  _Should Aragorn not recover, however, Arwen's forgiveness shall matter naught.  Their love prodded her to forsake her immortality.  Without that which holds her here, I fear she will never recover.  _He knew full well Arwen would not outlive her husband by more than a few years, if even that.

Then, the elf's thoughts turned back to that place he had been keeping them from the past several hours.  _Was there another way?  Aragorn was so certain that him entering that lair of evil was the only way to set his daughter free…but was he mistaken?  Couldn't I have taken that role as easily as he did?  Surely the fact that I am an elf was no more dangerous than his identity as the King of Gondor.  I should have been the one to enter that cave!  I have no family remaining to mourn my death…no wife, no children who would mourn my passing._

A new thought struck Legolas with such horror that he nearly stopped breathing.  _When did the plan go wrong?  When were we discovered?  When I went down!  Aragorn had established a credible identity…he could have easily done it all himself.  Only when I joined him did the plan collapse.  Only when I went down after him were we discovered._

_His death will be my fault._

Had Legolas been in a calmer frame of mind, his natural logic would have informed him that he could not have changed the situation – no other plan would have accomplished their goal.  However, a grief-stricken elf does not tend to think rationally, and Legolas was no exception.

_His blood is upon my head.  I shall bear the guilt of his death before his family the rest of my life._

In his mind, Legolas could see the scene – Aragorn lying in state, skin pale as the white linen that shrouded his form; Arwen weeping softly; Eldarion and Gilraen standing in shock; Dómiel huddled in her chair; and Legolas standing before them all.

_"I acknowledge that it was my faults that caused Aragorn's death.  Had I been of more courage, I could have prevented this death.  I bear his blood on my head."_

In the scene within his imagination, Legolas watched as first Eldarion, then Gilraen and Dómiel, and finally Arwen, turned their backs on him, excluding him from their circle.  Then, he saw more figures – Gandalf, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, his father and mother, his brothers, Gimli…all turned their backs, leaving him completely alone.

With a start, Legolas wrenched his mind back to reality and scanned the horizon.  All was clear.  The elf took a few deep breaths, trying to clear his mind and purge the panic from his body.  _You let yourself drift off, _he scolded himself mentally.  _For all you knew, those men were right behind you.  What if they got their hands back on Dómiel because you were dreaming?_  Legolas shuddered and turned his complete attention to watching and listening.  He could not worry now about what might or might not take place when he arrived.  He had a vow to keep and a child to protect.

_And I shall protect you, Dómiel,_ Legolas swore again silently.  _I was unable to protect your father, but I shall protect you, though it cost my very life.  Indeed, I would not mind if it did._

In front of him, the young princess slept on.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Mother?"

Arwen turned quickly at the familiar voice.  "What is it?  Have they returned?"

Eldarion slowly shook his head.  "No, mother.  Not yet."

Arwen turned her gaze back over the stone railing she stood behind, looking out across Minas Tirith toward the woods.  "They will come.  They must."  Her voice was a mere ragged whisper.

Eldarion stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.  Though only seventeen, Aragorn's son equaled him in height and was taller than his mother.  "Have you eaten?"

The queen's response was a slight shake of her head.  "I have no appetite."

"Mother, you must eat, or when Father returns, he'll scold me for not taking care of you."

Arwen sighed, turning to face her son.  "I do not wish to leave this place, Eldarion.  Here…here I have hope.  Walking the corridors of the palace alone…"  She trailed off and turned her head so that her son might not see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

"I'll ask one of the servants to send something up for you," Eldarion said, "if you promise me you'll eat it."

Despite her own sorrow, Arwen had to smile slightly.  "You sound just like your father.  He also worries too much."

Noting that she had neatly avoided promising anything, Eldarion said, "Perhaps I shall join you up here for that meal."  He meant it to sound casual, but he could not fool an elf of so many years.

"You intend to ensure that I actually eat," she replied calmly.

"Indeed I do."  He knew better than to lie to his mother.

"Well, I couldn't ask for better company."

A moment of silence passed as Eldarion worked up the courage to voice the question that had been rolling through his mind ever since he arrived home to find both his father and sister missing.  "Mother, what will happen if Father doesn't make it home?"

"He will come back," Arwen said firmly.  Then, in a whisper, "He must.  It cannot be over so soon."

Eldarion hated to press her, but he needed to know the answer.  "But what if he doesn't?"

Arwen placed a reassuring hand against her son's face.  "Then the country shall mourn and you, my son, shall be crowned King of Gondor, young as you are."

"I'm not ready for that," Eldarion whispered.

"You will find your strength when you need it most," Arwen said softly.  Suddenly, a spurt of Arwen's old spirit shone through, grief-weary though she was.  "I think I could stomach a bit of food, after all.  Will you accompany me, _Ionín_?"

Knowing full well that his mother was only being cheerful in order to calm him, Eldarion agreed, and the two headed into the palace.

And so, neither queen nor prince saw the two horses break through the trees and slowly approach the city gates.

_Notes__: I know, I'm still leaving you in suspense…but I promise things will get tied up in the next chapter…which shouldn't take me nearly as long!  If you like this…or can at least tolerate it…or, hey, even if you hate it…please make my day and review!  And, to the non-reviewing lurkers (because I know you're out there), thank you for reading!  If you feel so inspired, I would greatly appreciate a review.  However, if you do not feel so inspired, I hope you're enjoying the story anyways! =o)_

_Yay! Lots of reviewers! =o)_

_Daylight – I'm glad you think so.  Thanks for the review, however short it was!_

_mbali – Thank you for reviewing.  I just upload everything saved as a "web page" through Word (aka HTML) and it works.  However, it's not letting me center anything anymore…so I guess I'm not the best person to ask._

_Figure – Thank you so much for the multiple reviews!  I am very glad that you are enjoying this story as much as the other one.  And thanks for the plug for Wielders.  I'm sorry the poison/antidote thing wasn't very clear…but I hope it makes sense now.  I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the others! =o)_

_cat – I'm afraid it wasn't soon…but I did update!  I'm afraid this stopping place isn't too much better, though…_

_Vana Burke – Thank you for the review.  I'm sorry that wasn't very clear.  Yes, when Dómiel's nurse was shot (back in chapter 1), Dómiel was dropped over the edge of the wall of Minas Tirith.  When she hit the ground, it basically shattered the bones in both legs.  They wouldn't have had the medical knowledge to correct the problem, so her legs healed crooked, crippling her for life.  I hope that makes more sense now. =o)_

_Wolfete – I understand…I'm not particularly fond of cliffhangers in other people's stories, either.  But they're just so fun to write!  Anyways, thank you for the review, and I'm sorry I ended with yet another cliffie!_

_sabercrazy – I'm glad you don't expect an actual answer to that question…because I can't give you one.  I'm afraid you're just going to have to keep reading to find out.  But thank you for the review!_

_littlefish – Thank you for the review!  Uhm…I hope you didn't go too crazy with how long it took me to update.  But I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too! (Even though I still left it hanging…)_

_Ice Cube – I'm afraid I can't answer that question…you're just going to have to keep reading to find out if Aragorn survives!  Thanks for the review!_

_justme – Thank you very much for the review.  Thank you especially for being specific – it really helps me to know what I'm doing right.  And yes, I know, it's another cliffie… sorry! =o)_

_AragothwinElfBlade – Thank you for the review.  I'm glad you actually like the cliffhanger…I'm afraid most people don't.  I hope you enjoyed this chapter (with cliffie)._

_SapphireRose – And I'm doing it again.  Ah, well…=o)  Thank you for the review, and a hundred more thank-yous for beta-ing this chapter!  I really do appreciate it! =o)_


	12. Precious Treasure

**Crippled Prize**

**by Mizalaye**

_Note:__ "Naneth" is "mother" in Sindarin.  I assumed that, since Arwen is Elven and her children are fluent in Sindarin, they would most likely use the Sindarin term._

**Chapter Twelve: Precious Treasure**

The horrifying sensation of falling penetrated Dómiel's pain-fogged brain, causing her to wake with an alarmed start.

"Hush, little one," a voice murmured from somewhere above her.

Rebelling, Dómiel's weary eyes refused to focus properly, turning the face above her into a blurred and terrifying specter.  Only a quick reaction kept the scream that suddenly burned the back of her throat from escaping.

"Be calm, Dómiel."  The voice spoke in Sindarin now, its tone gentle and soothing.  "Don't be afraid – it is I."

With a good deal of blinking and rubbing her eyes, Dómiel managed to clear the mist from her vision.  Suddenly, Legolas' concerned face snapped into focus.  Once again, she went limp with relief.  Then, she noticed that Legolas was carrying her, not supporting her on the back of the horse.  "Where are we?"

"Minas Tirith," Legolas replied.  "You are safe at home now."

_Home?_  Dómiel looked about her, noticing the familiar walls of the capital.  Before she could ask any further questions, such as how they had finally reached their goal, a horrified scream reached her ears.  It took her only a moment to identify the voice – it was her mother's.

"_Naneth_?" she whispered.  A bit of twisting in Legolas' arms, and she could see her mother.  She wanted to feel her mother's embrace, to be held in her arms again.  But when she saw what had caused Arwen to scream, she could not force any sound past her suddenly frozen lips.

Arwen had dropped to her knees beside a makeshift stretcher.  A distraught-looking Faramir carried one end and her brother Eldarion bore the other.

And King Elessar lay immobile and white as the stretcher that bore him.

"He is not dead, m'lady."  Faramir's steady voice just reached Dómiel's ears.  "But we must get him to the Houses of Healing at once.  I do not know how much longer he can last."

Arwen stood immediately to accompany them, but Dómiel's eyes remained fixed on her father's face.  She had never seen a living man who more resembled a corpse.

_Is he truly alive?  Or did Faramir say that only to calm _Naneth_?  Father…_

With the image of her father's white face burned into her mind, Dómiel's eyes rolled back into her head, and unconsciousness claimed her once more.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

When Dómiel awoke, she was comfortably tucked into a soft bed in the center of a sparsely furnished room.  A minute of observation revealed that, while she slept, she had been bathed, dressed in a warm nightgown, and her wounds had been treated.  Another look around the room, which she now realized was located within the Houses of Healing, brought a person to her attention; a dark-haired girl, who looked to be about twelve, was curled up in a chair against one wall, dozing.

"Gilraen?" she whispered, afraid she would wake and find this all to be a dream.

Her younger sister's eyes flew open and she ran the few steps to the bed.  "You're awake!"

"Am I truly home?" Dómiel asked.

Gilraen merely laughed.  "Of course you are!  Legolas carried you here himself!  How do you feel?"

"Like I was trampled by a squadron of Uruk-hai," Dómiel replied with a gentle smile to soften the words, "but much better now that I am home."  Suddenly, memories stirred within her.  "Is Father…?"

Gilraen looked away.  "All they will tell me is that he is terribly sick and that I mustn't disturb him.  That is why I came to sit with you."

Before Dómiel could respond, the door cracked open, and Eldarion peeked inside.  "You're awake!" he cried, throwing the door open the rest of the way and striding to her bedside.

Dómiel cut off the inevitable questions about how she felt.  "How is Father?"

"I do not know," Eldarion admitted, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.  "_Naneth _is very upset, as are Lord Faramir and Legolas, but they refuse to allow me to see him."  He seemed about to continue, but glanced at Gilraen and fell silent.

"Gilraen…" Dómiel began.

Her sister cut her off.  "I'll go tell _Naneth_ you woke."  Though she sent a rather frustrated look over her shoulder, Gilraen did not stop to eavesdrop.

"You…saw him?" Dómiel asked once she was certain Gilraen was out of earshot.

Her brother nodded.

"When he first began to get sick, I was so scared," Dómiel admitted in a whisper.  "I kept telling myself that once we arrived safely home, he would be well.  But…then I saw him again after we reached the city and…"

"He seemed dead," Eldarion finished.  "I know."  Sitting on the edge of her bed, he drew his sister into a tight hug.

That was how Arwen found them when she entered the room a minute later.  "Oh, Dómiel!"

"_Naneth_," she breathed as her mother took Eldarion's place and held her close.

"You are well…you are safe…oh, my precious daughter…"

Dómiel relaxed a little more, letting her mother's love wash over her.  

But then, after several minutes, she couldn't hold back the question any longer.  "_Naneth_, is Father going to die?"

"I pray not, dear."

Tears blurred Dómiel's vision.  "It is my fault, isn't it?  If only I had stayed home!"  Forgetting all notions of royal maturity, she buried her head in her mother's dress and wept hot, guilty tears.

Arwen did not respond with words – she simply held her daughter and allowed her to cry.

"M'lady?"  Legolas' weary and ragged voice came from the doorway.  "The healers call for you to come at once."

Dómiel felt her mother's hand smooth her hair once more before she stood and left the room.  Eldarion took her place beside the bed, but Dómiel refused to allow her brother to comfort her.

Eventually, she drifted off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

_Flame…Shadow…Heat…_

_He stood on the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm, facing the Balrog.  A glance over his shoulder showed a group standing on the far bank of the chasm, watching him and waiting for the outcome of the showdown.  But it was not the Fellowship that watched him.  It was his family…his friends…._

_The Balrog would kill them all…unless he killed it first._

_But he was not Gandalf.  How could he face this demon alone?_

_The Balrog stepped closer.  Heat radiated from it, scorching his skin, parching his lips, searing his eyes.  Vision blurred, hearing vanished…all his senses were overcome by the heat.  Then flames leapt from the demon's hands and began to play over his skin, burning him as if he was wood.  He cried out, tried to extinguish the flames, but they were part of him now.  The tongues of fire slipped beneath his skin, until they lurked within him.  They burrowed deeper, burrowing into his heart._

_He knew the flames would consume him.  He had no choice but to fall prey to the fire.  Gasping in pain, overcome by the heat, he dropped to his knees._

_Then, inexplicably, a cool breeze blew across his face.  The flames did not die, but they retreated for a moment, as the healing breeze seemed to smooth his hair.  And on the breeze came a voice…a voice he recognized._

_It was enough.  He surged to his feet, his will re-exerting itself.  He would not fail now!  A bow appeared in his hand, and he drew an arrow from his quiver, aiming it squarely at the Balrog's eyes.  The arrow sang through the air.  The Balrog fell from the bridge, tumbling into the abyss below._

_But the flames now dwelt in his very spirit.  And they refused to release him._

_Just as he was about to collapse once more, the breeze returned.  This time, the voice was stronger.  It was a woman's voice, low and musical.  The voice spoke only one word, over and over.  Finally, he realized what that word was.  His name…_

"Aragorn…Aragorn…"

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.  "I did it."  His voice was no more than a cracked whisper, but Arwen heard him.

Her finger brushed his lips.  "You did.  But rest now, my love."

Aragorn wanted to stay, to speak with her, to tell her how much he loved her, but his body betrayed him, and he slid into the darkness again.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Arwen called her husband's name again, but he did not respond.  Panic flooding her, she turned to the healer.

The old man merely smiled.  "The King is sleeping naturally now, Your Majesty.  The worst is over."

Tears of joy and relief welled up in Arwen's eyes, and she bent her head over Aragorn's to hide them.

After a moment, a gentle hand fell onto her shoulder.  "My lady, you should get some rest.  I shall watch over Aragorn."  The voice was Legolas'.

"I believe you need the rest more than I, my friend," Arwen replied, "for unless my eyes have deceived me, you have stumbled no less than a half-dozen times in the last hour alone."

Legolas looked away, obviously rather embarrassed that the Queen had noticed his exhaustion.

"I should, however, inform the children," Arwen said, rising.  After brushing her lips across her husband's forehead, she glided from the room.

Legolas turned his gaze to his friend lying on the bed.  The elf's sharp eyes noted the subtle indications that Aragorn did, indeed, sleep naturally rather than lie unconscious under the poison's power.  "Welcome home, Aragorn," he whispered to the still form.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

**_Epilogue_**

_One Month Later_

"I still do not understand," Faramir said.

Aragorn smiled ever so slightly.  "There is little to understand.  I myself am not certain how I survived.  Either one of the herbs I used counteracted the poison enough to spare me, or my general resistance to illness triumphed…or perhaps a combination of the two."

"Or perhaps you were simply too stubborn to die," Legolas put in as he approached the two men.

Aragorn clasped his friend's forearm firmly.  "You ride to Rohan?" he asked, knowing that Gimli was currently at work in that land.

"Yes, but I would bid your family farewell before I depart," Legolas replied.

"Dómiel is in the gardens with her brother, I believe," Aragorn said with a knowing smile.  The two friends, man and elf, studied each other for a long moment before Legolas said a final farewell and strode away.  Aragorn smiled as he watched his friend depart, remembering the conversation a few weeks ago in which Legolas had apologized for his part in Aragorn's poisoning.  Of course all had been forgiven, and all was well between the two friends once more.

"It seems Dómiel has a new protector," Faramir commented, having observed that Legolas had not asked for the whereabouts of any of the other members of the royal family.

"That she does."  For a moment, the floor seemed to shift under Aragorn's feet, and he quickly flung out his hand to brace himself against the wall.  The dizzy spell passed after only seconds, however, and he quickly regained his balance.

"I am well, Faramir," he said firmly, noting the concern in his Steward's eyes.

"Forgive me, my lord.  It has only been two weeks since you left your bed…" Faramir responded.

"Between you and my beloved Queen, I should never need to worry about my health," Aragorn said wryly.  Truth be told, of course, he did not truly mind when Arwen fussed over him.  _Faramir, on the other hand…_

The Steward smothered a smile.  "If you have no other matters to discuss with me, my lord, I should begin home, or I shall have my own wife's ire to contend with."

"Then by all means, begone!  And extend my good wishes to your wife," Aragorn replied.  He was still chuckling when Faramir left.

Movement in the gardens outside Aragorn's window caught his attention.  Moving closer, he saw Dómiel, seated on a low bench, laughing as Eldarion acted out some tale – most likely heavily embellished for the telling.

His elder daughter caught sight of his face in the window and waved gleefully.

Aragorn waved back, smiling fondly at one of the most precious treasures in his palace before reluctantly returning to his work.

**The End**

****

_Author's Final Notes__: Yes, it's done!  A huge THANK YOU to all of my amazing reviewers for your support, your encouragement, and your comments.  I appreciate every single one of my reviews.  I hope all of you enjoyed this story.  If you did, and you haven't reviewed, I would love to hear your comments!_

_sabercrazy – Yeah…I know…and this one took just as long, I'm afraid.  But, seriously, what did you think of the last couple chapters?_

_Noel – Don't worry…I didn't kill Aragorn off.  I don't want to think about the bad consequences THAT would have on my health… But, thank you for the reviews and the support! (YES)_

_AragothwinElfBlade – Wow…you actually LIKE cliffhangers?  I suppose it's better than death threats.  Thank you for the review.  I hope you liked the ending!_

_ScarsOnAScribbler'sHeart – Thank you so much for your thoughtful review!  I do put a lot of thought into my titles, and I'm glad you appreciate them.  It's nice to get such a specific review.  I'm very glad you enjoyed my story!_

_SapphireRose – I had to get a little bit of angst in there, now didn't I?  Thank you so much for the reviews and the help with the inspiration and for beta-ing.  Just…lots of thanks!_

_To all the rest of my reviewers (and those of you reading this who don't review…) – Again, I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll see you all next story!  'Til then, farewell, and may God bless you! ~Mizalaye_


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